Lily of the Night
by xxArrowWolfxx
Summary: I was named after the night lilies that bloomed on the far side of the Sidra. The same flowers that were said to grant wishes on Starfall, the ones that gave me to Father. I never meant to resurrect that bird or to start the chain of events that nearly lead to destruction of the world. Post-Acowar following the life of Feysand's daughter and her journey to find her way home.
1. Prologue-Mourning the Lost

_Full Summary:_  
 _I was named after the night lilies that bloomed on the far side of the Sidra._

 _The large pale, cream colored flowers with veins of plum midnight that entwined paths through their velvet soft petals. The same flowers that were said to grant wishes on Starfall. Father always said it was those flowers that gave him me...I never meant to resurrect that bird in the garden that evening and never meant to start the chain of events that nearly lead to the destruction of not only Prythian but the world._

 _Post-ACOWAR following the life of Feysand's daughter and her journey to find her way home and stop the wrath of the Mother and the Cauldron. Includes numerous OC's and canon characters. Story will follow both the main characters and OCs._

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hi all! I hope you enjoy this story! I clearly don't own ACOTAR ;)**

I was named after the night lilies that bloomed on the far side of the Sidra.

The large pale, cream colored flowers with veins of plum midnight that entwined paths through their velvet soft petals. The palm sized blooms whose aroma mimicked the sweet caress of rain and the sharp tinge of sodden earth.

The same flowers that were said to grant wishes on Starfall—that is, if you were lucky enough to witness one blooming under the light of the traveling spirits that passed through Velaris that night. The lilies were said to only bloom every few hundred years and only on the night the dancing spirits passed.

Father always said it was those flowers that gave him me, that he'd wished on a single bloom he saw open in the glittering light that night and it was precisely a year later that he got me. The heavenly star gifted to the Court of Dreams. A beacon of hope after the dark night that had encompassed Prythian, the darkness that had stolen so many lives but had carved a path of hope.

Uncle, however, said heavenly was the last word he'd use to describe me, "heathen" and "bossy" were more suited. In hindsight, I'd be inclined to agree.

Brother had been born before me, the heir to the throne of the Night Court and arguably one of the most powerful beings to grace Pyrthian. It was said that Mother would not be able to bear children after him, after the sheer hell it had been bringing such a powerful being into the world and the fact it had nearly cost her life.

My birth had been nothing short of miraculous in light of it.

My birth had been milder, one might almost venture to have called it peaceful. My power did not rattle to the ends of Pyrthian as my brothers did. I was born with no power that could rival that of my brother or parents, or so they had thought. It was believed that I was just a precious flower given as a gift of peace to the Night Court, a child born in harmony and as a symbol of good fortune.

How wrong they had all been.

It wasn't long before my power manifested itself and proved to be far more frightening than anything my brother or parents possessed.

I hadn't meant to bring that baby bird back from the dead that evening in the garden, didn't mean to scare my brother and didn't mean to reverse the scars on uncle Azriel's hands when Mother asked me to show her what I had done. The ability to undo what had been done, the power the resurrect the dead and return time to a state it existed at previously.

I didn't know how I was able to even do such things, but somehow I could. It scared the Court of Dreams to say the least as they began scrambling to understand where such power could originate from, to understand just how such power could have manifested.

There were whispers and fear, so _much_ fear, of what enemies would do to me, what they would do to obtain my power if they knew what I could do. Harsh whispers and mention of safety plans, protect her, it was spoken over and over, protect, protect, protect. Hide and protect.

Mother told me everything would be okay, that we would figure out and, above all else, they would protect me at any and all costs.

How wrong she had been.

It was that same night that things changed ten years after my birth. The night the darkness encompassed the Court of Dreams and the shining star they'd all come to love was stolen away in the night. The night the celestial blooms given by the mother to those who had earned her blessing began dying.

The same night that I died.

* * *

"PAPA!" The young girl cried, large violet eyes brimming with tears and voice cracking as her hands shoved hard against the thick cords of the muscle of the arms, _MY_ arms, pinning her, "Please PAPA!"

 _No…_

Wind tore at my face and jacket, the powerful wings at my back sending us flying for the coast, the smell of the sea bombarding my senses, the scent of fear entangled with it.

I felt the dark chuckled rip from my throat, the hideous sound that didn't belong there, the body I had no control over- as I fought, thrashing against the bonds, the heavy chains blocking me from moving my own body.

I felt my hand dig harshly into her side, hard enough to tear skin, earning a scream of agony from the small child as she thrashed trying to escape and pleading to be released.

The cold air ripped her long black locks away from her face, knotting the silky strands into tangles. Those violet eyes, my eyes, stared up at me, terror and panic reflecting back in the pale light of the moon as she whimpered another plea.

Bargains of never misbehaving again, promises of never instigating fights with her brother, saying she loved me and she what sorry for whatever she had done…

The freezing air bit into my skin painfully, but more painfully into the girls face, which was clearly flushed from the biting cold and the crying. The hoarseness of her voice became more profound.

"I thought you wanted to fly?" I heard my own voice mock the child, _my_ child, as she screamed into the night for her mother, for Cassian, Azriel, anyone.

 _Stop_ …..

I screamed and threw myself harder into the walls blocking me, her words tearing my heart down its seams. I was helpless and useless, unable to do anything but watch as the scene of horror unfolded before me.

A blood curdling scream tore from her throat as I felt my hands wrap around the delicate membrane of her wings, the gift of her Illyrian blood, my Illyrian blood-I tore her wings off, blood gushing in every direction, splattering across my face and hers.

It was too much to handle, I'd destroyed it, the beautiful gift from my mate and the Mother herself.

I felt myself drop the child, her body limp having lost consciousness from the pain and trauma from the loss of her wings. I screamed in agony for anything to stop it, to cease the sin I'd just committed unable to stop myself-

* * *

I shot up in a blind fury, scrambling for anything in the darkness to tether to, but there was nothing.

 _Celeste, Celeste, Celeste._ The name thrummed through me like a drum, nausea reared up to meet me, I felt my stomach tighten, preparing to empty itself on the floor.

Black shadows engulfed the room, so dark and so dense that you could not see even inches in front of you and the house trembled beneath the might of it.

Soft, cool hands were on me instantly, gentle words of comfort were murmured as those hands worked soothing circles on my back.

A dream, not your fault, I'm here. Those words. Truth to those words, truth except one. It wasn't alright. Celeste, my daughter, my precious child, stolen in the night right from under our noses.

The same little girl who we had searched for in a blind panic in those critical hours following her capture, the same little girls who's precious, so small and precious, wings had been found torn from her body near the border of the Day Court, violently and viciously ripped from her small frame-

I lost it, couldn't contain it. I emptied the contents of my stomach on the floor, tears blindly running down my face. Heaving I propped myself on my hands, sorrow and blind rage coursing through my system as I realized I hadn't been able to save her.

As I heaved the final contents of my stomach I felt the soft patter of droplets on my back, tears from my mate.

"Feyre," I gasp, glancing on my shoulder to look at her, to see my mate, to comfort-

"Don't," her words were clipped, forced to be calm as she held tightly onto me, "Just don't. We….there's….please." The last word came out in a broken sob as I felt my High Lady bury her soft face against my back, her thin arms around my back and chest tethering us both.

It'd been almost thirteen years since we had lost Celeste and still the nightmares would not cease. The nightmares of seeing myself kill my daughter over and over. The pain of losing her hadn't faded. They had been so sneaky, so quick when they took her. We'd had virtually no time to respond to find her. We'd torn the world apart looking for her, racing against all odds.

Those odds had run out.

We'd been too late.

We'd failed.

No, I'd failed.

So no words came to me as I flipped over and tucked Feyre into my arms, her frame so small and fragile against mine, and held her. Our tears entwined as they fell freely, as we lay prone on the soft carpet of our room, the world too quiet, too serene.

We'd never found her body. Just her shredded wings-

A sob escaped my chest.

This hell just wouldn't end.


	2. What Has Become

Dim evening sunlight peered through the glassless windows and scattered across the floor of the gray wooden shack in lazy rays. The golden light glazed over the old splintered wooden benches and rusted metal tools, carelessly strewn about, coating the entire room in a muted golden sheen. A young woman sat just beyond the rays in the shadow, her hands working quickly with pieces of twine before her.

A grunt echoed from a large man sitting against the wall adjacent to her.

"That's not how ye throw a net you goon," a reel of rope came flying at the young woman's head, which she artfully dodged her eyes fixed on the net she had spent an hour straightening and carefully knotting, "Yer never gonna learn girl." The smile was easily heard in the man's voice, his yellowed teeth peaking from behind a broad mustache and unkept beard.

The young woman clicked her tongue in response, her nimble fingers pulling and weaving the rope of the net with expertise, she had to get this finished as quickly as possible. "Is there anything else you'd like to add before you leave Adder?" She called from her kneeled position, her silken hair tied in a tight braid that she absentmindedly adjusted and tossed over a shoulder.

A snort.

"That'll be it for the day." The large man lifted himself from his seated position, the wet squelch of his boots echoing in the room as he stood, "though I'd suggest yer workin too hard and should git home to check on that sister of yers, but yer foolish head'll never listen to a wise old man."

This time a snort from the woman.

"Duly noted." A dismissal. Adder shook his head, rolling his large shoulders beneath his faded grey parka.

"Ye know the ole boss isn't gonna care if ya leave before the sun goes down," the man stated, his burly arms crossing over his chest, "I've been here nearly thirty years and he hasn't fired me."

"Miraculously," The girl replied nonchalantly, her fingers tying up the last of the knots in the net, _keep it even, keep it tight_ -"and unfortunately some of us can't afford to lose the job. There." Tying the final knot the young woman held up the net to Adder, showing off her handy work.

"Well?" She questioned, her large violet eyes raising and glancing towards the tall old man almost expectantly. Adder had been the one to teach her how to tie a net, he had also been the person to tell her when she was screwing up one.

"Perfect as always Miss Celeste," Adder replied with a chuckle, his broad mouth breaking out into a smile, "though if ya don't mind me saying you'd be better suited for a bride with that pretty face of yers."

Celeste scowled and rolled her eyes before narrowing them towards the man, "Does your idiocy know no bounds?"

A chuckle.

"Guess not," Adder watched as Celeste rolled up the net with expert hands and stuffed it into a burlap satchel filled with countless other nets, "just figured a pretty young woman such as yerself might want to eventually leave this hell hole of a fisherman's life."

"Are you offering me a proposition?" Celeste quipped a small smile tugging at the edge of her lips, her equally soaked boots squishing as she strode across the shed burlap sack in hand, the smell of fish and the sea an onslaught against her nose. The golden rays of the sun had dissipated from the room leaving the old shack feeling hollow.

"Mother above no," Adder said with a breathy laugh, "Ye know how mad Martha'd be? I'd be dead before the idea even left my head."

Celeste chuckled in response as she shoved the satchel of nets onto the top shelf of an old rickety cabinet. Running the sleeve of her shirt across her forehead she wiped away the damp condensation from the humid room. Hopping down from her perch she used to reach the high shelf she began rummaging through another bin, one filled with tackle and line. She only had one more net she had to finish before she could be on her way for the evening.

"Your wife is a fool for not disposing of you," Celeste replied as she dug around in the bin, her voice slightly muffled from inside the container, "She could find herself a nice young merchant man. Easier on the eyes and exponentially easier on the nose."

A cackle escaped Adder's lips as he shook head in agreement. "You're mighty correct about that one."

"Of course I'm right." Straightening from the bin Celeste pulled out several long pieces of twine, she inspected their length and strength, "Speaking of your lovely wife," Celeste drew, making her way back to her position in the corner of the shack twine in hand, "shouldn't you be headed home? You've been stalling leaving for the last hour and a half."

Adder looked sheepish at that and turned to face the window, the wood around it swollen and warped from years of exposure to the humidity. "Well I was hopin ye'd get out of here at a decent hour there isn't much sunlight left to work by…." Adder's voice trailed off his crinkled eyes focused on the distance. Turning he faced Celeste once more, "How's that momma of yer's doing?"

Celeste's hands paused briefly at the question catching her off guard. Swallowing hard she slowly she went back to work. "She's…..still here." Her voice was strained as she answered, her posture going ridged. Why would Adder want to talk about this of all things?

"Martha said she saw ye and Miss Anelisse headed to the apothecary few nights ago," Adder ran an idle hand through his grey beard, "lady drives a mighty hard bargain since she's the closest thing we've got to a healer for a hundred miles."

"She needed the medicine," Celeste murmured, her voice having gone soft, "what choice do we have but to the pay the price."

"You've got none," Adder replied, watching the girl work with soft eyes, her hands moving slower this time, "that lady doesn't deserve either of ye girls."

"Mind your business," Celeste replied sharply as she quickly readjusted her braid again her eyes shooting daggers at the old man, "we do what we have to do." His hands rose in surrender.

Walking towards Celeste Adder looked down at the young woman as she worked, her thin bony frame evident beneath the tattered white shirt and black pants she wore, her spine peeking through. How long had it been since she'd eaten adequately? Everyone at the fisherman's reef took home fish in the evening, enough to feed two people if you stretched it but not three and Adder knew full well who got most of that food.

"Yer gonna turn into dust one of these days if ye don't put some meat on those bones," rummaging in his pocket Adder pulled out a small leather satchel, "here ya goon, a present from me'n Martha."

Celeste looked up confusion on her face as she took in the kind old man she worked with dangling a leather satchel above her head.

"What's that?" Celeste asked suspiciously as the old man shoved the satchel into her hands and folded them around it.

"A gift."

Uncertainty filled Celeste as she carefully opened up the pouch and felt her jaw slacken, "Adder," she said almost breathlessly, "I will not—"

"Yes, ye will," Adder said, shoving the satchel back at the young woman, "You and yer kind are barely hanging on and yer the only one floating yer bunch. Take it and don't argue girl, you wouldn't wanna piss off Martha."

Resilience flashed across Celeste's eyes, she knew how desperately they needed the money but to take it from Adder-"But your trip to the main land-"

"Can wait," Adder replied, "It won't take long to rebuild it up again, Martha will get to see her fields of flowers." It was decided. Celeste felt her shoulders slacken, even for all of her hard work it never seemed to be enough. She hated handouts and favors.

"Don't go lookin so sad ye goon," Adder said, his hand patting the young woman on the head, "The ole boss man doesn't pay ye near what he pays the rest of us. Ye work harder than the lot of us combined. So take that there and go get yerself some food and new boots," A glance towards the old worn leather boots, too small and fraying at the edges, "and for the life of ye don't tell that momma of yers."

"Thank you, Adder," Celeste bowed her head in thanks before pocketing the money, with that she'd be able to get Anelisse a new pair of boots as well, "Someday I will pay you back every copper you and Martha have given us."

"I know girl," Adder smiled at the girl before stretching his arms above his head, "but until then take care of yerself," Adder finally turned to exit the old shack, his accented voice calling back to her "You want me to walk you home?"

"No," Celeste replied, her hands having dropped the twine, she could finish the net in the morning, "I can manage myself. Thank you."

Another snort. "Stubborn girl," Adder pulled at the old wooden door, its hinges creaking and groaning, as he tugged it free from its swollen frame, "make sure ye stop by some time and see Martha, she's been askin about you-also girl, yer ears are showin." With that Adder stepped out onto the pier that the shack sat on and disappeared into the noisy array of gulls.

Celeste lifted a finger to find that her delicately pointed ears were indeed poking out of her carefully braided hair. Cursing she readjusted her braid once more, mindfully concealing the heritage she fought daily to conceal from the wary fisherman.

It had been that way for the last thirteen years carefully hiding what she so clearly was.

Not that it did her much good.

Straightening her frame she rubbed at her sore spine, she'd been kneeling nearly all day working on the nets. The waters had been too rough that morning to go out and catch so they'd been holed up in the wretched shack waiting on the cursed storm to stop raging. They'd been having to go out farther and farther to be able to find fish, so on stormy days like this it wasn't feasible to leave the dock lest risking the entire crew.

Hanging up her hooking tools Celeste scooped up her old worn pack and grabbed the two meager pieces of bread and small chunk of cheese one of the other fishermen had left from his lunch saying it was nothing but gull food. Celeste felt that familiar cramping hollowness in her stomach; for her, it was to be dinner.

Shoving open the old wooden door Adder had disappeared through Celeste was met with the salty scent of the ocean, the powerful stormy breeze dancing across its surface billowing her hair. Turning she pulled the old warped door shut.

 _Some good this lock does_ , Celeste mused as she clamped the old rusted thing shut, it's pin barely holding it together. She turned and faced the ocean, the grey sky painted in storm clouds and the sound of thunder clashing in the distance, strange for the season.

Making her way up the pier she began the long trek back to the other shack she had come to know as home. The home that had become her own when she'd washed up on the shores of this desolate coastal town, Vanica, all those years ago lost, injured and confused. Everyone had adamantly avoided her, her fae heritage evident with her ears, an ominous sign in a village full of isolated humans.

She'd be fortunate that Anidre, a former Child of the Blessed, had found her and taken her in, agreed to raise her alongside her own child, otherwise she knew she'd have been left for dead.

Walking down the old cobblestone road, Celeste kept her eyes forward watching the local children scuttle home for the evening, their voices echoing with laughter in the streets. A pang strummed through her chest that she ignored as a bright-eyed girl ran up to her and waved her greeting. Marrien, Celeste remembered as the girl quickly shot past her giggling and a young boy, James, came chasing after her laughing. Siblings.

Celeste smiled and waved slightly at the two, knowing full well their mother would be angry if they dallied and stopped to talk to the local fae resident. It'd happened before, and Celeste had no desire to see the children punished like that again.

The main street of the town was lined with old wooden buildings whose once vibrant paint was chipping and faded from the relentless sun and the strong winds of the ocean beating against it. She watched as the shop keepers closed for the evening, some sending her small smiles but most just glaring, making small signals with their hands to ward against her.

She bowed her head respectively towards those acknowledging and mindfully ignored the rest.

It was well known that many humans still weren't fond of the fae, especially in small secluded towns were few ever came and even fewer left.

Making her way past the main street she hiked mindlessly into the rural area of the island, the buildings fading into foliage, and thought of the things she would finally be able to buy with the money Adder had given her. Anelisse needed a new dress and boots, wearing ones that were clearly too small for her adult frame.

She also thought of the small paint set sitting in the window of the quaint art shop, something that Anelisse had been eyeballing for the better part of the last few months. Paints were something that Anelisse hadn't had the luxury of having in years, ever since the money had ran out and they'd been left in total poverty.

To say they were poor was an understatement. Anidre's husband had died a few years before Celeste had shown up on the island and had left Anidre, a dreamer with a vague mind, to raise a little girl on her own and with no means to provide for her other than the small savings that had been left for her in her husband's passing.

When she had taken Celeste in there had barely been enough food to go around and the savings was dwindling. When the money and food finally ran out Celeste decided to take it upon herself to help, so she learned to fish. At first her catches were few and far between but then Adder saw her one day trying to cast a line and decided to help her, coming out in the evenings to show her the tricks of the trade.

Before long she had found herself working at the fisherman's quarters gutting fish for coppers a day thanks to a certain old man's insistence. When she'd gotten older and they realized how strong she was, and how fast she could move and tie knots she was finally permitted to join the rest of the men on the ocean front fishing, for the same pay she'd always had.

A few measly coppers a day.

It was better than nothing and beat out scraping the guts out of fish before they were sent to the market.

Surmounting the hill, she soon found herself in front of her home, smoke billowingly lazily from the chimney and the soft feminine humming echoing from inside.

Anelisse.

Celeste reach forward and opened the door with intentional loudness alerting her younger sister inside. Her preternatural silence had always been unnerving to Anelisse so she had learned to make a point of letting her sister know where she was.

Stepping inside she was met with sight of the said beautiful blonde sitting in front of the fire, her hands working quickly as she repaired one of the old shredded curtains, her long fingers moving swiftly and smoothly.

"Welcome home," Anelisse called sweetly, her beautiful heart shaped face lifting to face Celeste, silvery eyes glinting in the fire and thin pink lips spreading into a relieved smile, "I'm glad to see you're okay, I was worried about you on the ocean with this weather."

"We didn't go out," Celeste replied, her voice a softer alto compared to Anelisse's sweet soprano, "the water was too treacherous with storm raging on the coast, I made nets all day."

Anelisse stood, setting her sewing aside and straightened her old ragged dress as she rose from the old rocking chair.

"Come sit, I will get you some water," Anelisse quickly scuttled for the makeshift kitchen, ignoring Celeste's pleas to sit down. Celeste watched as her sister fetched one of the broken porcelain cups from the kitchen, humming all the while, her lithe feet seemingly dancing across the dirt floors.

Celeste shook her head and kneeled next to the fire, shoving her cold hands near the flames absorbing the heat that she could from it.

"Here," Anelisse offered the cup to her sister upon her return, "You should drink." Anelisse plopped down next to Celeste and propped her head in her hands watching her sister.

Celeste drank the cool water quickly, not realizing her thirst until the water hit her parched throat. Setting the old porcelain cup aside she pulled her pack from her back and began rummaging around for the bread and cheese. Pulling the bread out she watched her sister's eyes light up as she handed the larger chunk over to her.

"Thank you," Anelisse said as she took the bread, carefully concealing her obvious hunger, "No fish for today I assume?"

"No," Celeste said looking towards the side, guilt wrenching her gut, the fish had moved away from the coast in recent years and it was no longer possible to go out and just cast a line any longer, "we should have some tomorrow."

"It's okay," Anelisse reassured as she bit into the bread, eating slowly, "how was your day?" This was the routine, Celeste would return from the fisherman's wharf to be greeted by her sister and asked about how her day was, prodding for any details she could get and trying to make light of even the most mundane tasks.

On good nights Anidre would join them sitting in the old rocking chair listening as her children prattled on.

"Droll," Celeste replied, valiantly ignoring the piece of bread and cheese still sitting in her pack as her stomach turned over on itself, "How is she?"

Anelisse stopped her chewing briefly before swallowing, "She hasn't woken much today, it's only been murmuring. I was able to give her some fish broth left from yesterday but otherwise nothing." Anelisse looked sadly towards the dirt floor, "I do not know what to do."

Celeste offered a hand out towards her sister, a sign of comfort and understanding. Anelisse took the outstretched hand and held it tightly, her other hand shoving bread into her mouth.

"You should eat," Anelisse said from behind a mouthful of bread, "Momma won't be eating that tonight and you need it more." She looked guilty at the remaining bread in her hand, Celeste squeezed her hand diverting her attention.

"Don't you start feeling guilty," Celeste said nodding her head towards the bread, "eat." Anelisse slowly nodded.

Anelisse had always come first, that was the unspoken rule Celeste had set for herself, Anelisse then Anidre and if any remained she would take it. Rummaging in the pack Celeste handed the cheese to Anelisse before rising from her seated position.

"Where are you going?" Anelisse asked watching Celeste move towards the small separate room at the back with sad eyes, the answer self-evident.

"To check on Anidre."

Opening the door on silent hinges Celeste walked into the dusty room, the same old wooden decorations nailed carefully into the wall, a room that had once been the sanctuary of a very happy family. A small broken bed sat in the center of the room, it's brass frame curved in the shape of vines and rusted. It was occupied by a small unmoving lump.

Walking towards the center of the room Celeste lowered herself gently onto the small mattress, the old soil colored quilt wrapped tightly around the small lump of a woman.

With gentle hands Celeste pushed the peppered hair away from the woman's sweat drenched, fever clearly racking her body.

"Semour?" The woman called hoarsely, her glazed eyes darting back and forth, searching, "Love is that you?" Celeste took Anidre's hand and squeezed gently, her heart aching as she watched the woman who had shown her kindness call out for her lost love.

"No Anidre," Celeste replied, rubbing soothing circles on her hand, something that had been done for her once long ago when she was unwell, "it's just me. It's just Celeste." The woman's clouded amber eyes cleared momentarily as she took in the young woman sitting with her.

"Celeste." Anidre said with a smile, her wrinkled hand coming up to cup Celeste's face, the warm hand pressing against her cold cheek, the same hand that had held her fevered face that night all those years ago when she'd been brought back to this house soaking wet and barely alive.

The same night she had thrown away all ties to the fae realm and swore she would never return, no matter the cost.

"My beautiful fae child, my gift from the Mother for my diligence to the fae lords," Celeste felt herself cringe internally as she watched Anidre's mind real back to her once ridiculous worship of the high fae, _high monsters is more like it_ she thought ruefully to herself, "do you hear the music? The immortal fae ringing," A soft, breathless giggle from the woman "how blessed I was to have gotten you my child."

"Yes Anidre I'm here," She rested her hand over Anidre's, "Are you thirsty? Hungry?" She felt her stomach tie in a knot but forced it down willing it to cease its complaining, "what can I do?"

The woman paused staring blankly off into the distance before she leaned her head back against the pillow, her eyes suddenly glazing again, "Semour? Love?"

"No Anidre," Celeste whispered, "it is still just me." The woman's hand slackened.

Celeste gently pulled Anidre's hand from her face and laid it across the woman's stomach who had abruptly fallen back into a deep sleep.

This illness, seemingly unknown to anyone, had taken Anidre in its clutches nearly a year ago and her condition had only declined, worsening with each passing day and no tonic or herb had seemed able to break the clutches of the strange sickness.

Tucking the covers around Anidre once more Celeste stood from the bed and crept silently back into the main room, the sun now having fully set and the fire the only light in the room.

"Well?" Anelisse questioned, her eyes watching the fire, "anything?"

"She spoke of your father," Celeste replied, noting that her sister had eaten only half of the chunk of cheese she had given her, "then fell back to sleep." Anelisse nodded her head gravely, tucking her knees up under her chest and staring blankly into the fire.

Lowering herself back onto the floor Celeste pulled the bread from her bag and began eating it, the cramping in her stomach easing. Anelisse quietly handed the other half of the cheese to Celeste before curling herself next to her adopted sister.

"You're going with me to the market tomorrow," Celeste said as she stared into the fire eating her bread slowly, the wind tearing at the broken shutters, "we're going to buy you some new boots and that set of paints you've been eyeballing."

She felt Anelisse shift, her silver eyes focusing on her, "what do you mean?" Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Adder and Martha gave me money," Celeste said quietly, her eyes trailing towards the satchel of silver and copper hidden carefully in her bag, "He refused to take it back so we best make use of it while we have it."

"Truly?" Anelisse said, her eyes unexpectedly sparkling for once, "you mean there's enough to get paint?" Celeste nodded her head, she knew the money should be saved but for Anelisse she'd be willing to risk spending the few extra coppers, she needed the happiness, now more than ever.

Celeste could hear the smile in Anelisse's voice as she spoke to herself, "I'm going to get to paint tomorrow," Nuzzling down Anelisse once against propped herself against her sisters side, "You've always taken such good care of Momma and I, I do not know what we would have done without you Celeste."

Celeste felt a pang rattle through her chest at those words. She opened her mouth to refute the claim of her sister but noticed Anelisse had already slipped into a deep slumber, her long fingers curled into Celeste's shirt.

That night Celeste dreamt of beautiful paintings and of a beautiful woman with golden hair.


	3. A Day In The Market

"It seems like the storm front hasn't passed," Anelisse mused, the old shawl wrapped around her shoulders billowing in the turbulent winds, their whistle an eerie call through the salt drenched cliffs, "I wonder how long it will remain in the bay for."

"Who knows," Celeste replied, her eyes cast skyward as she watched gulls circle to and fro, clearly unsettled by the weather, "it means the fishermen will be out of work until it passes though." A feeling of dread settled over her, knowing that each day without work were days when they would be without food.

If it hadn't been for the money Adder had given her Celeste wasn't certain what would have happened.

"Atleast you get the day off." Anelisse reassured, always looking for the light side to Celeste's dark. She lazily twirled a strand of her ashen hair around her finger, "We can spend some time together for once. Consider it a sign of good fortune."

Celeste smiled in response, she hadn't had much time with her sister since she'd taken to going out to sea with the fishermen, just their nightly conversations over their meager meals before they slept. This had been the first time in nearly a year that the two had ventured to town together, had really ventured anywhere together.

Yes, maybe this storm was good fortune.

Celeste and her sister made their way down the old path towards town, the weight of the copper in her pockets welcoming, especially since it seemed she was to be out of work until the storm passed. Passing the old fork in the road they came to the edge of town, the point where the grass and dirt changed to pressed cobblestones, the sounds of the market quiet for once due to the weather.

Passing by the baker Celeste's nose was onslaught with the smell of fresh baked bread and pastries, a memory tinkling at the back of her mind of a place she had long since forgotten. Anelisse let out a groan of longing, her lips pressed together in a tight line.

"It's been years since I've had fruit pastries," she considered, her eyes glistening with memories as she glanced over the pastries propped in the windows, "when father was here we would go every evening to the baker and share one. Apple, peach and cherry in the summer." A brief glimmer of happiness crossed her face, "We'd walk the shore after, Father and Mother swinging me between them as the waves danced along the shore."

"I imagine it was wonderful," Celeste supplied watching the happiness fade from her sister's eyes, reality reeling itself back into place, "it will be wonderful like that again someday, I'm sure." When that day was coming she wasn't certain but for Anelisse she'd be willing to look forward to such a day.

"Yes, it will," Anelisse's voice chimed as she pulled the old faded umber shawl about her shoulders, her worn cream-colored dress less than a barrier against the chilling wind, "we'll have pastries every evening one day AND we won't have to share." A tinkling laugh.

"I'd be frightened to share a pastry with you," Celeste drew dryly, her eyes glancing over her sister and a smirk tugging at her lips, "I'd be fearful of my life to even try to take one from you. Who knows you might even eat me with that appetite of yours."

"That's not true!" Anelisse shot back, her cheeks flushing red, "I have a lady like appetite mind you. Sweets just…. seduce me."

Celeste snorted, an amused sound. "Did you just describe the pastry as seducing to you?" A grin broke across her face as she faced her sister, who was still clearly flushed, and crossed her arms over her chest, "I wasn't aware you were into that sort of….sexual endeavor. Lady like indeed."

"Celeste!" Anelisse barked, her face now several shades darker than it had been moments before as she glanced around checking for listening ears, "that's not appropriate! You shouldn't refer to…such things so casually."

"Don't worry," Celeste waved her hand nonchalantly, her fingers coming up to her lips and making a zipping motion, "my lips are sealed. I swear I won't tell Anidre of her daughter's deepest darkest desires."

"You're foul," Anelisse hissed, swatting her sister across the shoulder, "you must have been raised by a flock of brutish men if your feminine mind is filled with such ridiculous thoughts." Anelisse regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, Celeste flinching ever so slightly at the mention of her past.

"Celeste," Anelisse said, realizing her mistake, it was the one thing that they never talked about- "I didn't mean to…I.."

"It's fine," Celeste responded coolly, her face once again set in a wide grin, her previous discomfort hidden cleverly beneath it, "and some lady you must be to walk about in your knickers all the time." A distraction, anything to get away from the subject of…..that.

"I do not strut about in my knickers!" Anelisse yelled stomping her boot in annoyance, catching the attention of others in the market, their concerned glances shifting to the two girls outside the bakery, "If either of us prefer a state of undress it's you!"

"And?" Celeste cocked her head, a devilish grin on her face, "I'm perfectly accepting of that. You, however, have not come to terms with the wildness that lurks inside. A sexual vixen only waiting to be unleashed, untamed and ready for ravishing-"

"You're spouting nonsense-" Anelisse blurted, her hand waving wildly at Celeste, trying to clamp shut the mouth that would not cease its spewing. The girls exchange was rapidly interrupted as a young handsome man with dirty blonde hair approached them, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

"What was this about a sexual vixen?" The man asked, his voice thick with the accent that all the people in Vanica had, his hand idly scratching his scruff covered chin.

At his tone Celeste's shoulders went ridged, the playful aura about her shifting to one of lethal intent. The amusement left her face immediately as she drug her eyes from her sister to the intruder on her left.

"Why Celeste wouldn't be referring to you Miss Anelisse would she?"

A look of horror passed over Anelisse's face as she slowly turned to face the man, the long planes of his attractive face lifted in a poison coated grin. The blush deepened, something that would have seemed entirely impossible.

"No Lukas," Celeste's features were set in a cool wall of stone as she addressed him, her eyes icy as she shot daggers at the man, "I was referring to the bitch in heat in the alley so desperately calling your name. Why don't you tend to her."

"Celeste," Anelisse reprimanded, her arms suddenly wrapped across her chest beneath her shaw, attempting to hide herself as best as possible, "There is no need to be rude." _Oh, there's plenty reason to be rude_ Celeste thought as she wedged her way between the man and her sister, _enough to throw his sorry ass off a cliff._

"Your sister speaks the truth," Lukas supplied, running a hand through his shaggy golden locks, "I was only wanting to join in on the teasing. It has been ages since I've seen either of you in town." His attention directed itself towards Anelisse, his eyes taking on an almost feral sheen, "Especially you Miss Anelisse, you look as lovely as ever." Taking her hand, he gently pressed a kiss to the back of it, his lips lingering.

"T-Thank you Lukas," Anelisse replied, the flush in her face now for an entirely different reason, "I'm glad to see you are doing good as well."

"Always," he replied, his voice a sultry baritone purr, "especially now that my Father has struck up trading agreements with several merchants on the mainland, the hardships that this island knows should soon cease."

Celeste snorted, loudly and rudely. "Maybe if you'd share some of that wealth your father has then that would actually be the case." Lukas turned to Celeste, looking down his nose at her as though she were vermin.

"The wealth of my family will always be shared amongst my people, human people that is." A brilliant cruel smile broke across his face, "and that wealth would be extended to all those who need it amongst _my_ people," a glance towards Anelisse his eyes burning with molten desire, "all they need do is ask."

"We don't need your handouts Lukas," Anelisse spoke quietly but firmly from behind her sister, her silver eyes hard and mouth set in a tight line, "now please go about your business so we may tend to our own as well."

A breathless laugh. "Of course, Miss Anelisse, I did not mean to offend," A bow followed with a flourish of his hand.

Celeste contemplated kicking in his knee caps, before he straightened his form.

"Please enjoy the market on this fine day," he made to walk to Anelisse but Celeste wedged herself further, he paused tilting his head in the way a predator might when sizing up prey, "and, Miss Anelisse, please do not forget my proposition."

"She's already told you no," Celeste growled, shoulders backing as she evaluated his stance, calculating just how much effort it'd be to deal with the fallout of ripping his throat from his neck and ceasing his endless blabbering, "so move your ass before I move it for you."

"It wouldn't be difficult for you would it," Lukas drew, his eye fixating on Celeste as he shifted his neck, three long haunting scars showing from his neck to beneath his collar, "how easy it would be for you to kill all of us on this island really, with that strength and agility of yours."

He stepped closer, his lips curling back from his teeth, "Killer's born in beautiful bodies that's all the fae are," his smile grew wicked, "even amongst their own kind it would seem if those scars on your back are any indication-"

Celeste saw red, her body tight, ready to strike, consequences be _damned_ -

"Enough of you," Anelisse's voice had gone dark, its previous waver gone as she shoved herself between the man and Celeste, her shoulders backed and head high, a queen amongst mortals, "Be off before I personally see to it."

Without so much as a glance towards him Anelisse hooked her arms through Celeste's and pulled her away, directing their attention towards the tailor further down the road.

He did not pursue.

The blood was pounding in Celeste's ears, rage wracking her whole being as she seethed quietly through her teeth. Killing him would be _so_ easy, _so incredibly simple_ -

"Forget him," Anelisse ordered her sister, the previous confidence still sent on her features, her eyes forward, "He is not worth the consequences of ripping him limb from limb. He is all bark and no bite, he knows he can't win against you and instead provokes you with words. Cool your temper."

Celeste heaved one heavy sigh from her chest, shoving the anger deep and sealing it beneath the surface. She would have her chance to deal with Lukas Pennington, royal fool of Vanica, one day.

He had been a nuisance in her and her sister's life since the incident on the cliffs so many years prior; having taken it upon himself to harass her by any means necessary. Including directing his attentions and affections towards the one thing that meant everything to Celeste.

She'd kill him before she let him get his hands on Anelisse.

Stepping inside the tailor's shop Celeste was encompassed in a well-tended wooden paneled room, the smell of leather oils prominent. Celeste remembered the first time she had been to the shop was the day after she'd woken up for the first time on the island, when Anidre had brought her here to be fitted for a new set of clothes.

A small counter sat at the far side of the room in front of a small red door that lead to the work room in the back. Across the walls hung rolls and rolls of fabrics, ranging from subtle greens to rich hues of red and purple to the palest creamiest beiges. Behind the counter sat a middle-aged woman with brown hair and brown eyes, her thin brows narrowed in concentration with the fabric in her hands, absorbed with the details of her stitching.

"Pennelope," Anelisse greeted, startling the woman from her work and causing her to drop her needle in surprise, her hands flailing. Anelisse winced, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."

Pennelope looked up from behind the counter, assessing who had spoken, before her face broke into a wide smile. "It is good to see you girls, come in come in!"

Stepping lithely from behind the counter she made her way towards the two women, her round face lit up with pleasure, "It has been too long since I've seen either of you! My goodness how you've both grown." She looked over both girls, her brow furrowing.

"You're still wearing those clothes I made for you two years ago," she clicked her tongue in annoyance, "I told you to come to me when they started to wear out and I would make new ones for you."

"We could never ask that of you Pen," Celeste said as the woman scrutinized her old white shirt, holes having formed in the shoulders and the waist, "we haven't had the money to pay-"

"Hush," the round woman said, waving her hands rapidly, "this is nonsense, I should have known you two would be wearing rags before asking for any help."

Her accent was unlike the rest of the occupants of Vanica, a slow draw clearly derived from the country fields in which she had been raised, "Come along. Let's get you measured so I can get you two dressed in something that's not literally falling to bits off you!"

The girls glanced at one another, small smiles tugging at the corners of their lips. For all the ignorant cruel people that inhabited this tiny island there were a handful of very kind individuals who tried to look out for them. Individuals who had watched the girls grow with nothing but each other for help and warmth.

Pennelope being one of them.

Pennelope had come from a wealthy farm family on the main island with a rich dowry. That she'd fallen in love with the island's cobbler, Roan, and had married him against her parents' wishes. She'd moved and had happily settled in the small town of Vanica.

Being the only tailor and shoe maker on the island they made a decent living catering to the fishermen and their families but had an expansive savings that allowed them to be generous in their dealings.

"Anelisse," Pennelope chastised, walking around her, "Your dress is skin-tight in the hips and chest! You've clearly grown since last I fit you." A pointed look to Anelisse, "You shouldn't be flouncing about in something so skin tight, especially with these foolish young sailors flitting about." A blush crossed her cheeks as she murmured her feeble apologies.

"And you," Pennelope said, pointing an accusing finger at Celeste, "you've been out in the sea water in the same pair of pants and shirt for the last year," She tugged at Celeste's shirt, promptly ripping it causing Celeste's eyes to flair open, "the fabric may be strong but it's not made to hold up against that much wear and tear without ripping!"

A gentle smack was placed against the back of Celeste's head, "Stubborn prideful girl."

Throwing the piece of fabric, she had ripped from Celeste's shirt aside she ushered the fae woman into the back-work room, maneuvering around spools and blocks of fabric. Rounding a corner Celeste came face to face with a mirror.

"Stay here," Pennelope ordered and began muttering to herself, "now where did I put that measuring tape?" She mozied away, intent on finding her missing tool. Celeste however paid no attention as she looked at herself in the mirror for the first time in years, slightly taken about by the woman who gazed back.

Her long-tapered heart shaped face had gained more structure, no longer holding the soft childish curve it had only a few years before, her high cheekbones prominent. Her eyes, violet and ever striking, were still as large and almond shaped as they had ever been, her arched brows sitting delicately above them. Her thick lips, diveted with a delicate cupids bow, sat down turned as she glanced over her body, thinner and taller now than before, her ribs poking out slightly.

"I'll never understand how you're so beautiful," Anelisse pondered aloud from behind Celeste, her hands holding onto her shawl as she looked at her sister in the mirror, "it's kind of cruel really to be the sister of such a beautiful creature," a phony dramatic sigh from upturned lips, "I'll never find a husband with you to compete with."

"Don't worry," Celeste replied glancing over her shoulder, pink tinging her cheeks slightly, how many years had it been since she'd been called beautiful? Had been praised for her physical attractiveness? Those thoughts of vanity had faded when she'd woken up on that beach so long ago, "You can have all of them. I'd settle for a library full of books and a means to hear music."

"Mm books how lovely they must be," A pause and a finger tapping lightly on her chin, Anelisse's heard slightly cocked to the right, "But AH! Alas, I am illiterate, so I will have to settle for the wooing of men to keep me entertained," she pressed a hand to her forehead, feigning weakness, "however will I survive."

"Oh I'm sure a pair of broad shoulders could help you keep your strength," Celeste joked a single brow rising, "but I thought you weren't interested in the pursuits of men? What happened to that long-sought dream of being a healer?"

"Oh yes yes I'll get to that," Anelisse said, "but until I learn to read or find someone to teach me the healing arts I won't be much use on that front."

"You just need practice," Celeste reminded her sister, having spent the first few years of their time together teaching her to trace letters in the sands, "You know the letters shapes and the sounds you just need material to read and write, you'll pick it up quickly."

"I suppose so," Anelisse mused her eyes trailing over her sisters exposed back, her eyes stopping on two festered and tapered scars that ran alongside her shoulder blades to the middle of her back.

"I always wondered how you survived that," Anelisse whispered, her eyes glazing over as she took in the site of the anger red marks that stretched down her sister's shoulders, "They've always looked so painful." Celeste paused for a moment, her mind unwilling to acknowledge the memory that so often haunted her dreams.

"I do not know." Celeste replied, unwilling to even use the mirror to glance at the brandings on her back, the brandings that had marked her an outcast from her people. Those marks served as a reminder to her that she was never to return to the place she had once called home.

A pregnant silence followed.

"I found it! I found it!" Pennelope broke the silence as she came bounding into the room, waving a measuring tape above her head, "now we can get started."

* * *

Several hours later the girls were making the ascent back to their home, wearing new, albeit large, clothes until Pennelope could make their new ones. She'd handed over the articles muttering about how thin they were. She had also taken the time to measure their feet so that boots could be crafted for them both when Roan returned from his trip on the mainland.

In true Pennelope fashion she had refused the money that Celeste had offered her and had shooed the girls out of her shop saying she had a wedding dress to finish for Emily Lingard, the stitching she had been working on before they'd interrupted, before she could get to work on their clothes.

Having acquired everything, they needed from the tailor and cobbler and having spent none of the copper Celeste had insisted on taking Anelisse to get her paints, allowing her to buy the small set of primary colors in the window alongside small containers of white and black paint. Celeste had also told Anelisse to pick out some paper, thick and weighted, for her creations.

Anelisse had nearly cried in delight once they'd left the shop, her new paints and paper tucked beneath her arm.

They'd headed off to the market then to purchase dinner- bread, cheese and thick cut of beef steak-before stopping off at the bakers.

Celeste knew they shouldn't have splurged further but seeing Anelisse bite into the apricot pastry had made the purchase well worth it. They had split the pastry and ate it on their walk home, talking and laughing about the antics of the locals and which sailors they fancied over the sailors they did not. By the time they reach the house they had laughed themselves hoarse.

Opening the creaky door Celeste made her way inside, intent on prepping the food for dinner and starting the fire when she was met with an unexpected site. Sitting in the chair wrapped in a wool blanket was Anidre.


	4. Remembering The Lost

_Momma?" the young girl inquired, her tiny gloved hand sitting inside my own, black hair braided half up, tight ringlet's falling down her cloaked shoulders, and pink cheeks bright from the cold, "Why is Papa such an idiot?"_

 _I almost snorted. Almost._

 _"Celeste why do you say your father is dumb?" I inquired, hiding the amusement in my voice as I helped her over a slippery patch of ice, her boot clad feet sliding on the thin sheet as we made our way down the ice coated cobblestone street._

 _"Because he's always saying things that make Amren mad," her petite face scrunched in thought, her freckled button nose wrinkling, "Not to mention he's always saying ridiculous things to Cenric and I. Surely Papa knows the ocean isn't made of pudding!"_

 _I couldn't resist the grin that spread across my face, eternally amused by my daughter's rantings about Rhys, my mate and her father. A loud sigh of exasperation left her lips as she dramatically threw her head back, irritation written across her features._

 _It was most definitely a mystery whom she had gotten the flair for the dramatic from._

 _"Am I the only intelligent one?" She inquired to the muted grey sky, violet eyes twinkling in the street light beneath thick dark lashes. Her fingers curled tightly in my hand, a look of total annoyance on her face, "Other than you of course Momma, you're the smartest of us all. Second only to me."_

 _Or that confidence._

 _Turning the corner of the brick building I began leading the small girl towards the line of shops near the Sidra. Yellow lantern light illuminated the snow-covered ground as fae strolled about enjoying the rare winter storm, their breath making clouds in the cold. Some of the patrons noticed us and sent us smiles and waves. I waved in reply, always happy for the friendliness of the people Velaris, MY people._

 _Stepping up onto the street we stood before a small restaurant, the smell of spices wafting through the air, the roaring laughter from its occupants echoing outside into the cold._

 _"Your father is very intelligent," I reminded Celeste gently, chuckling, as I adjusted her dark purple jacket and pulled down her fur lined hood from over her small head, "He's only teasing you and your brother."_

 _She shot me a skeptical look, something far beyond her mere seven years. "I don't think so Momma." I couldn't contain the snort that time._

 _"Come on," I said with grin, "Let's go see the idiot," I winked and put a finger to my lips, "but don't tell him I said that." The grin she gave in response was priceless, her head nodding in conformation, her fingers zipping her lips._

 _Stepping inside the building I quickly caught sight of our family, overcrowding a large table in the back, the roaring laughter heard earlier coming from them. I felt a familiar burning in my core when violet eyes rose to meet me, Rhy's face breaking into a broad smile as he rose a hand motioning for us._

 _The effects of seeing him never changed, even a hundred years after our mating._

 _Removing Celeste's jacket, I watched as her small black wings unfurled from their warm cocoon  
against her cream-colored sweater, stretching in the warmth. So very tiny and so precious. The fact she had inherited them a feat in itself._

 _Free of her jacket she made a beeline for the table, her black curls bouncing. I could only smile as I folded her small jacket over an arm and followed, offering my apologies to the patrons my daughter had shoved through on her way to the back table. Their only responses being amused laughs at the little heir to their beloved High Lord and Lady._

 _"Look who finally decided to join us," I heard Cassian call from his seat on the end, holding his hands out for the small girl, a grin plastered on his face, his long hair pulled up and away from his face, "took you long enough primping those curls of yours."_

 _We were indeed late for dinner because she had adamantly refused to leave the house until her hair was properly curled._

 _A mystery indeed where than vanity had come from as well._

 _"Shut up Uncle," Celeste replied coolly, completely side-stepping Cassian and walking down towards her other uncle, holding her hands up for Azriel, "Some of us don't like looking like piggies."_

 _A roaring laugh came barreling from Cassian echoing loudly above the chuckles and amused giggles from the other occupants at the table. Even Armen graced the comment with a sharp cackle, her slick black hair bouncing with the movement._

 _With an amused smirk on his face Azriel picked up his small niece, sitting her gently in his lap. The shadows at his wings nearly dissolving in the presence of the little girl who was so clearly attached to him. From her position beside him Elaine placed a small kiss on Celeste's head, straightening curls as she pulled away._

 _I watched as Cenric, my son, seated next to his father promptly choked on the water he was drinking, dark blue eyes wide. Ever well-mannered and the pacifist in comparison to his fiery sister._

 _I stepped beside my son and patted him gently on the back, his blue eyes raising to meet mine as if to say,_ is she really saying this? _I could only shake my head in reply, amusement coursing through me._

 _There was too much fire to contain within that little girl, best to let her get it out._

 _Rising from his seat Rhys wrapped an arm around my waist and pressed a firm kiss to my neck, a greeting, one that caused the breath to hitch in my throat. I saw Cenric shift his attention to a very interesting green bean on his plate._

You shouldn't do that in front of him _, I shot down the bond, playfully poking Rhy's shield, my sons discomfort evident._

It's good for him _, Rhys eyes seemed to say as he pulled the chair out for me_ , he should see how a woman is treated properly.

 _Stepping back, he pulled the seat out for me, allowing me to sit. The warmth from Rhys seeped into my chilled sweater and body as I sat and scooted closer to him, our hands entangling underneath the table._

 _"That's painful Celeste," Cassian feigned injury, his attention still directed towards the little girl now carefully perched in Azriel's lap, a hand pressed dramatically to his chest, clearly intent on heckling her until he got another rise out of her, "You shouldn't be so cruel to your uncle."_

 _"Yes she should," A comment from the ice vixen herself, Nesta smiled faintly behind a glass of a wine, her icy eyes bemused as she glanced at her mate, "Someone has to get that ego of yours in check. Who better to do it than an honest little girl?"_

 _"I second that," Mor added, golden curls hanging loose around her shoulders and wearing her signature red._

 _The tension between her and Nesta had slowly faded through the years. All that remained was an unrelenting force that was constantly checking Cassian's ego, "We might make an emissary out of her yet. With that attitude and mouth she'd be brilliant to take to the gatherings of the High Lords."_

 _"No thanks." Celeste supplied around a mouthful of food, having snuck fruit from her uncle's plate, clearly too famished to wait for the food that had been previously ordered for her. I sent her a pointed look but Azriel only shook his head and wrapped his arms around the small girl tighter, his chin resting on top of her head._

 _I refrained from sighing, he was completely wrapped around that little girl's finger,_ _almost as bad as her father, "I want to be a General, let Cenric deal with the boring adults."_

 _"Hey!" my son shot back, sitting up in seat, "That's not fair!"_

 _"Why isn't it?" Celeste replied, shoving another slice of fruit into her mouth, "You're better at talking to people, I just want to break things and fight." A familiar smirk graced her lips-Azriel may have been her favored uncle but her mannerism were clearly derived from Cassian._

 _"Because I'm the oldest! Besides," Cenric's arms crossed over his chest dramatically, his brow furrowing in annoyance, "you're my sister and need to be protected, not out on the battlefield fighting!"_

 _Cenric's loyalty to his sister had been evident from the day he had been told about her existence. Every kick and movement she had made in the womb he had wanted to feel. He had spoken to her through the duration of the pregnancy, as she had flopped inside me, and had hardly left her side since she had entered the world._

 _Celeste's attachment to him was just as fierce, a constant desire to protect her older brother, a softer gentler spirit than herself. A spirit that was not built for war and had no desire to participate in it._

 _"No way!" Celeste shot back, her hands planting themselves flat against the dinner table, "You're too sweet to be in battle. You can rule The Night Court and I'll protect you from the bad guys." A sharp nod as she sat back, leaning heavily against her uncle's chest, a look of content on her small features._

 _"You know," Cassian drew, as he watched the staring match between the two children, clearly entertained by their bickering, "You've got to get big before you can do any of that. Besides none of us are going anywhere anytime soon so get in line sweetheart for being General."_

 _"Oh don't worry uncle," Celeste cocked her head, an equally devilish smirk on her face, "I'll just beat you in battle and then you'll have to let me be General."_

 _Rhys couldn't contain himself as I heard him let out a low chuckle beside me, his eyes twinkling with unspoken pride at the confident child that was his own. He tightened his grasp on my hand and pulled it closer to him, his calloused fingers working soft circles into my palm._

I love them, _I felt him say through the bond the happiness overwhelming_ , they are perfect. _He pulled my hand from under the table and pressed warm soft lips to the back of it,_ just as you are.

 _I smiled in reply, I'd never been happier than I was in this moment. Rhys and I stared at one another, our eyes locking. His lips pulled up at that corner and he leaned forward to kiss me—_

 _SPLAT. A spoonful of yogurt slammed into the side of his face, his handsome features set in a state of shock._

 _"Oops," I heard Celeste's soft voice say, sheepishness creeping into her tone, "I'm sorry Papa, that was meant for Uncle Cassian."_

 _I felt a laugh build in my chest and proceeded to laugh until tears were streaming openly down my face._

 _Yes, this was the way things were meant to be._

* * *

"Feyre," Mor's voice cut through the memory jolting me free of its presence, my attention having been lost in the past. Blinking I looked down at the dark plum jacket in my hands, it's fur lined hood soft beneath my fingertips, "It's time."

Looking up from my seated position in front of the vanity in my room I looked to Mor, her beautiful face somber and her outfit, usually colorful and vibrant, a solemn shade of grey. I nodded my head slowly and rose, my shoulders tight as I hugged the coat to my chest, the smell of her still lingering.

"Cenric and Rhys are already at the burial site," Mor supplied, chewing absentmindedly on her lip, "the others should be there shortly, we should go."

Mor offered a hand out to me, an offering of comfort. I took it gingerly, the warmth from Mor's warm hands seeping into my own. Those times had not lasted, they had faded those few short years ago when we'd lost the smallest of our own.

"Yes," I replied, my voice foreign to my own ears with its soulless tone. It was always like this when we went to visit, my mind miles away and detached, "we should be."

Mor nodded, her hand still tight in my own as we winnowed from the townhouse.

The darkness around me faded rapidly as we landed in a soft green field, the wind billowing gently through the willows that covered the lush valley. Wildflowers bloomed in every direction beneath the cloud covered sky, it's flat color casting the scene in layers of muted grey.

There was a time when I would have wanted to paint it, to recreate it exactly as I saw it, but that desire had also faded those years ago. In the distance beneath the largest willow stood two males, their physique and appearance near identical save for one possessing wings and the other not.

Sensing our arrival, the two men turned their attention towards us, their faces grave. Stepping nearly in sync they made their way towards Mor and I.

"Mom," The wingless one greeted, Cenric, his black hair shaggier than his fathers, "you look nice."

Stepping close to me he wrapped his arms around me, crushing me in a tight hug. I squeezed just as tightly in return. Releasing me he stepped back, his blue eyes rimmed in red, the smell of salt on his face. "Uncle Cass and Az said they'd be here shortly."

I nodded my head slightly, the wall of numbness still barricading my mind from feeling. Mor stepped forward and linked her arm through Cenric's, leading him back to the big willow, the place where I dreaded most to step.

"Feyre." Rhys greeted, his voice low and eyes steady as he stepped towards me, pausing briefly as he searched for the words to say, none came. I only shook my head in understanding, feeling the hollow pain resonate down the bond between us. Our hands quickly found one another's and interlocked, each of us a pillar of strength for the other.

Trailing through the tall grass we made our way to the stone circle underneath the large willow, rows and rows of lilies planted around it in full bloom. Sucking in a shuddering breath I stepped away from my mate and kneeled onto the cool ground, pressing my palm flat against the earthen surface.

"Hello, my little girl," I spoke quietly, the tears finally beginning to clog my throat, "It looks like the lilies your aunt Elaine planted have really taken off." My voice trailed off, the tears slowly beginning to spill down my face, "It's been raining a lot too, I remember how much you loved the rain."

Rhys hand came to sit on my shoulder a comforting weight. The flood gates broke as a wretched sob tore from my chest, Rhys' arms now wrapped around me steadying.

Somehow even over a decade later visiting this grave had become no easier. Even with my father's death the wound had healed with a few years' time, but this cut deeper, far deeper. The night terrors and hollowness when I passed that small room in the Riverside Estate had not worn away. It felt as though the open wound were still there beneath the scarred surface, always throbbing and aching.

How utterly unfair and cruel it had been that we'd had to bury our tiny daughter's wings, the only thing remaining from the gruesome death she had faced.

For a time we'd been convinced she was alive, searching constantly, through every town and home, combing through every blade of grass but nothing had appeared. It wasn't until Helion sent us the news that his men had fished her small boots and cloak out of the ocean, clearly torn through and gnawed on by fish, that we had accepted the fact that she'd met her end in a watery grave.

It hadn't taken long to discover who'd taken her, a group of Illyrian rebels exiled for trying to overthrow Rhysand had sought revenge and struck when we were least expecting it. They'd felt that kidnapping and murdering the precious flower of the Night Court and demolishing her wings would strike at the heart of the High Lord they so thoroughly despised; and it had been Keir, Mor's father, who had gotten them into Velaris.

I'd never seen felt such seething rage when Azriel had winnowed in with the news, the shadows darker and denser than I'd ever seen with him.

It had been a blood bath.

We'd torn the Illyrians limb from limb, slowly, deliberately and without an ounce of mercy.

The Court of Dreams became the Court of Death that night when we'd slaughtered them like livestock.

There had been no remorse in their eyes as we destroyed them either, only cool satisfaction that they had struct the most vital piece of the Court of Dreams. The bile rose at the back of my throat as I thought of the gruesome tale they told us, the truth of their words that had echoed throughout their minds when I'd held them.

How they had torn her to bits all the while screaming out for her father, for Azriel, Cassian, Nesta, ME, anyone to stop the agony.

Rhys lost it.

Nothing could have contained the power that tore the banished lords apart after they'd told the tale, and none of us had stepped in to stop it. We'd bled the remaining Illyrians for every ounce of agony they'd inflicted on her.

Blood had pooled that night, only a small piece of retribution for what had been stolen.

After we'd winnowed directly to the Court of Nightmares where Keir had finally faced the end of he wretched existence. The mountain had shuddered beneath us when we'd landed, and Rhys had misted him, misted them _all_ into nothingness, without a word.

Those that had survived the attack had ran, fearful of their lives, the blood of their brethren falling like rain around them. The High Lord had finally demonstrated the true extent of his power, had finally eradicated them for the insects they were.

Their lives had been worth so much less than hers. They could never replace hers, could never fill the void that had permanently formed in my heart and soul.

Finally, it had been mourning, mourning and mourning, that seemed to have no end or beginning. Which it what is was now, as I kneeled on the ground before her grave, a pain and injustice that should have never happened.

I barely heard the soft crunch of earth as Amren, Azriel, Cassian and my sisters joined us. Their faces stoic as they circled around the small grave, the wind billowing their hair. Glancing towards the side I saw Azriel's gloved hands clasped in front of him, leather gloves on his hands he refused to remove, his eyes soft as he looked at the sodden patch of earth.

Celeste had reversed the scars on his hands, had completely eradicated the memory of his terrors, when her powers had finally manifested. That gift she had given Azriel had turned into a curse, a reminder of the little girl that he hadn't been able to protect or save. So, he wore the gloves, a way to hide his shame and regret for something he had loved so dearly and fiercely.

Her powers were what we had feared would get her killed, we could have never imagined that it would be internal workings and rebellions that would have taken her from us.

Tears blurred my vision as I realized again that we'd fought the last time I'd spoken to her, an argument about flying, about her having to stay safe and protected, that we couldn't risk taking her outside of Velaris, not until things had settled, until things were secured.

I felt the bile rise in my throat again but forced it down, I would not deface her grave, this peaceful place that held something that was so near and dear. I heard Cassian shift to my right, a small bouquet of flowers in his arms, as he stepped forward and laid them against the grey headstone. He always brought flowers when we came to visit, the flowers that Celeste always demanded of him when she had been small. _Bring me back highland roses_ , she'd tell him when he'd leave for the Steppes, _bring me back a bunch Uncle._

He'd never once forgotten her roses, not even now.

I felt Rhys' strong arms pulled me upright, a gentle reminder that we couldn't lose ourselves to the misery and that for her sake we'd have to keep living. Shaking my head and wiping the tears away I allowed my mate to pull me into a standing position, my knees weak.

I noticed Amren to my left, her face flat and seemingly unfazed unlike the rest of the occupants, her fingers toying with a hideously jeweled pin on her shirt. A gift from a little girl who had adored her to no end. Her face may have been passive, but I knew a storm dwelled deep underneath.

A long unaltered silence enveloped us as we stood there lost to our own internal devices.

"I see the lilies are doing well," It was Elaine who broke the silence, her golden hair braided about her head and brown eyes misty, "I'm glad they turned out so nicely. She would have loved them."

"Yes she would have," Rhys replied, his deep voice vibrating through his chest, ever grateful that Elaine took the time and effort to tend to the flowers that surrounded our daughters resting place, "and somewhere I'm sure she's delighted to know that they're here to keep her company when we cannot."

"She always did love gardening with you," Nesta supplied from her position next to Cassian, their arms intertwined, "she was always so pleased when you'd let her dig holes in the garden."

"For something that was so focused on being presentable," Cassian added, his eyes clearly lost in the memory, "she had no issues getting messy or doing dirty work."

"Of course not, she feared nothing," Cenric added, he hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulder's hunched, "she would have made an incredible High Lady."

"Or General," Azriel added, Elaine tucked in close to his side, "she would have made us all very proud."

"She did," Rhy's near whispered, his arms tightening around my waist, "she did make all of us very proud."

A silence fell between all of us as thunder began roaring above our heads.

"It looks like she'll get her thunderstorm," Mor cooed, her lips turning up at the corners, "maybe you should take the advice she use to give you Cassian and go fly into one and see what happens." A low round of chuckles followed.

"She was always going nose to nose with you," Mor continued, brushing her golden locks out of her face, "I wonder if she really would have ended up besting you in battle for the title of General."

"I would have liked to have seen her try," Cassian said, something like weakness in his voice, "I would have trained her to be the best she could have possibly been." It was obvious to that it killed Cassian to never have even gotten the chance.

"I think she would have made a much better spy," Elaine interjected, her hands wrapped about Azriel's arm, "she actually listened to Azriel."

"Unlike you Cassian," Nesta drew, her hand interlocked with Cassian's own, "all you could ever get out of her was attitude."

"Stubborn thing she was," Amren snorted, her fingers having dropped from the pendant, silver eyes slid over to me, clearly reading between the lines, "we'd best be on our way before the storm flushes us out."

"I'm going to stay longer," I replied, the warmth of Rhys the only thing staving off the shivering that threatened to wrack my body, "but the rest of you should go." A quiet dismissal, a rare order from their High Lady. I needed this time to mourn with my mate and I needed it to be alone.

Everyone muttered their farewells and began making their way away from the grave, Mor looping her arm through her nephews, another yearly visit finished. Only Azriel lingered, his hazel eyes locked on the headstone, before he finally bowed his head and made to leave, Elaine waiting for him up the valley.

As everyone vacated I leaned further back into Rhys, the smell of citrus surrounding me as heavy raindrops began falling on our heads.

"A thought for a thought?" I inquired, wrapping my arms around my mates, cocooning myself in him as I felt his head nod on top of mine, "I wish I could kill them all again, make them pay for what they took."

"I know my love," Rhys whispered into my hair, his hot breath tickling my neck, I felt warm droplets slide down my neck, "I'd give anything to have her home again, I'd give my very life to get her back."

"So would I."

With that the rain came down in a heavy torrent as we stood there waiting and watching, wondering how one could ever be the same after something so important had been ripped away. We stayed there through the storm and late into the evening, until the sun had set and the growls of the beasts in the woods began to call.

Only then did we leave, but even so our hearts reminded at that small solemn grave, protected by lilies and the love of those who had cherished her most.


	5. Tainted Memories

"Momma?" Anelisse said in disbelief as she made her way into the house, her tone revealing that she wasn't entirely believing the sight she was seeing. Anidre hadn't been out of bed on her own in the last eight months let alone coherent enough to wash and dress herself.

"Anelisse," Anidre's soft voice called, her amber eyes awake and focused, "Celeste, I'd wondered where you two had wandered off too. Are you alright?" A shared glance of disbelief between the girls.

"Yes, Yes!" Anelisse replied, clutching the paints to her chest, relief evident in her silver eyes, her lower lip wobbling, "we're just fine, Celeste just took me to town to get us new clothes and bought me paints! Here have a look." Anidre smiled and opened her arms out to her daughter, welcoming her to come sit with her.

Celeste stood dumbfounded, her hands going slack around the satchel of food she carried. How, she thought in disbelief, watching the middle-aged woman coo at her blonde child, had she recovered so quickly? A sinking feeling traced through Celeste's gut.

"Celeste," Anidre called, breaking Celeste's stupor,"Come join us my little fae child," her arms wrapping around Anelisse, the young blonde leaning against her mother, "the food can wait." Anidre's amber eyes drifted towards the satchel of goods that Celeste had, her eyes probing their contents.

Blinking back the surprise Celeste smiled softly and set the food down, mindful to not rattle the satchel in her pocket, and strode towards the two-woman perched carefully in the old wooden chair. She could prep the food in a moment.

Opening her free arm Anidre wrapped it about Celeste and pulled her in close. Celeste was met with the onslaught of the smell of cedarwood and lemon verbena, Anidre's most beloved soap. The woman's arms, now thin and frail from disuse, tugged tightly around Celeste's small waist, bringing her into the warmth of her adopted mother's side.

* * *

A few weeks passed without incidence, the storms still raging off the coast. With the waters remaining treacherous Celeste was left with more free time that she'd had in years. An empty pocket of existence that wasn't filled with work that kept her both busy and exhausted.

She'd decided to spend that time with her adopted mother and sister, laughing and chattering, watching Anelisse paint the days away.

The pale blonde had painted anything and everything: flowing ocean seas, vibrant flowers and images of faraway stone castles she'd never seen but had dreamt of. The style of her brush strokes so reminiscent of a fleeting memory of a woman Celeste once knew who loved to paint.

Anidre had sat in the chair beside her and had watched as well, her eyes crinkling with pride as Anelisse expertly blended the colors and brought vision after vision to life.

Celeste and Anelisse had ventured into town two weeks after first seeing Pennelope to pick up their new clothes and boots. They had entered the shop to find their new clothes packed and wrapped, waiting for them on the front counter.

The friendly woman had given each of the girls a mischievous grin before announcing there were presents for both of them inside and that she fully intended to see them at the town dance in three days' time and that they'd best not be late.

Celeste hadn't realized it was already time for the Earth Rite, Imbolc, centered around the awakening of the Spring, the festival that even the little town of Vanica rallied to celebrate.

Upon returning home they'd found new outfits: dark pants and light shirts for Celeste and two wool spun dresses for Anelisse, crafted with sage and cream fabrics. The most startling had been Pennelope's gift though.

Alongside the new outfits the seamstress had sewn two simple but beautifully crafted dancing dresses, one a pale dusty pink with a golden sash at its waist and the other a deep rich plum, a sash of the same hue tied about its middle. They were expertly stitched and sturdy, made of material that was expensive and difficult to obtain in an isolated place such as Vanica.

Upon finding the dresses Anelisse's jaw had gone slack.

Celeste had carefully ran her fingers over the soft material, it's color the same deep hue she had loved so dearly as a child.

"There's no way we could ever afford this," Anelisse had said breathlessly, her silver eyes wide, "why would Pen do this? Surely this is a hardship on her?"

 _Once_ , Celeste had thought idly to herself, still running her fingers along the dress, _once I could have afforded this_. The recollection of dancing and fine fabrics drifted through her mind like a fine tune replaying murky highlights of her youth. The tinkering memory of laughter and being lifted high as she danced through the night in the most beautiful city in the world bloomed at the front of her mind-.

She had shut down the memory immediately.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Celeste had replied her lips slightly downturned at the corners, the memory still tugging at the edges of her mind, "and we both know full well returning the dresses will get us nothing but a lecture."

Which had led to where Celeste stood now, her eyes cast out of the window of their small home, her hands hanging awkwardly at her side as she swayed slightly, testing the movement of the material around her. The dress was a bit big, hanging loosely around her slim shoulders and modest chest, but it fit. She ran her hands awkwardly through her freshly washed hair, the silky black tendrils clingy to her hand.

She must have looked ridiculous.

Anelisse had insisted on smearing kohl around her eyes and pinching her cheeks to add a flush of color. She had almost forced a pink coloring cream on her lips but had clicked her tongue in distaste, informing Celeste that she had "more than enough color" naturally and that she and her good "breeding" could kindly go find somewhere else to be where she didn't have to look at it.

Celeste had only blinked in response before Anelisse had shoved her out of the room, insistent on prepping herself for the dance, something she was incredibly excited about attending.

Celeste, however, was not.

She had no desire to venture into Vanica and spend the evening celebrating with the town's inhabitants, dancing and singing until the sun rose on the horizon.

No she would have much rather spent the evening quietly curled up amongst her blankets on the floor, the makeshift bed she had slept on for the last decade, and let her mind wander wherever it pleased.

Her heart still stung after the shouting match she'd had with Anidre, the one where she had stormed out of the cottage and into the woods days before to ignore what she had spent so long suppressing.

* * *

 _Celeste tilted her head back, laughter spilling forth from her lips as she wiped stray tears of merriment from her eyes. The story Anidre had just finished telling leaving her in a state of disbelief and great amusement._

 _"You can't be serious," Anelisse replied, shoveling bread into her mouth, her focus entirely on her mother, "Father was surely not that awkward or clumsy." Silver eyes filled with amusement regarded her mother whose lips were puckered in laughter._

 _"Oh he was," Anidre chuckled, her pallid face full of color for the first time in ages, her peppered hair neatly braided in a cornet. She carefully ran a hand across the plait smoothing over any fly away hairs, "he knocked over every last breakable thing in that room, the sisters of the blessed were none too pleased."_

 _"I imagine not." Anelisse replied, silver eyes alight and full of hope, something so at odds with the somber creature she had been mere hours before._

 _"Your father was a strange sort," Anidre said with a breathy laugh, her amber eyes twinkling in the firelight, "though you are not as strange as he was, I see him in you. His beauty was definitely passed to you." Her eyes softened as she took in her only child, the splitting image of the man she had loved the most. Anelisse's silver eyes and ashen hair striking and lovely as her fathers had supposedly been._

 _"Thank you Momma," Anelisse said, passing a hand over her long hair, her mother having just finished braiding it, small bits of old ribbon incorporated throughout, "I remember him sometimes, especially his kind eyes and smile." Anelisse sat on the floor, her elbow propped against her knee and face resting in her palm, her mind clearly lost in the memory._

 _"Me too," Anidre smiled, setting her plate of food to the side and wrapping her blanket tightly around her shoulders, "He would have been so proud of you." Anidre shifted her attention towards Celeste, her lips splitting in a small smile, "He would have delighted to have been able to help raise you."_

 _Celeste swallowed her food, feeling awkward at the attention. She had never had the pleasure of meeting the man who had impacted her adopted mother and sister's life so deeply. She shifted awkwardly, rearranging her legs and moving her porcelain mug with such care, ensuring not to drop it._

 _One of three their small family possessed, one that she had inherited from the man whose presence had filled this space before her._

 _"I'm sorry I never got to meet him," Celeste replied, brushing crumbs from her lap and looking at the small cup in her hands, it's old surface still beautiful even with it's evident wear, "the stories you tell about him make him sound like a wonderful husband and father."_

 _"That he was," Anidre mused, leaning back into her rocking chair, she watched the young fae woman with gentle eyes, "he always said he would have liked to have had another child." Celeste felt her shoulder's sag a bit at the comment, the memory of another once kind husband and father brushing against the edges of her mind._

 _A soft silence settled between the three with only the sound of the crackling embers filling the air._

 _"He did not see your kind as I do, as deities to our mortal selves," Anidre continued after some time, her brows knitted at the center of her forehead as she gazed off into the fire, a pit suddenly forming in Celeste's stomach, "but he would have loved you none the less."_

 _Anidre's focus slide away from the fire, a sigh slipping through her lips, "How I wish I could see the fae lands myself, to be amongst those who are so much greater than ourselves."_

 _Celeste had to reel in her sudden revulsion at the mention of the fanatical opinions Anidre had of the fae, the disgust towards the beginning of a conversation that Celeste did not want to have. She resisted the urge to bark her disagreement, she knew what many of the fae still thought of mortals and knew Anidre wouldn't stand a chance amongst them._

 _Even with the changes that had been actively implemented after the war a hundred years before many of the fae still held strict lines of division between themselves and mortals._

 _"Maybe one day," Anidre drew, her amber eyes sparkling, Anelisse had stilled, "You could take us to be amongst your people, with the money we were so blessed to have been given, to be accepted into the arms of your benevolent kind."_

 _"No." Celeste growled, her voice coming out more vicious than intended, her violet eyes narrowing. She should have known this was where the conversation would be headed, "I will not take you to the fae lands, you nor I have any business in them."_

 _"Celeste." Anelisse chided, hearing the cold anger that had coated her tone, "Mother. Please, let this go." The light that had lit Anelisse's bright face had dimmed, her silver eyes crinkled in despair at such a warm moment spoiled._

 _"You are one of them." Anidre replied, ignoring her daughters pleas, her eyes taking on the wild look she often got when talking about the fae, "Surely you must understand that your place is not amongst mere humans, you have to return home someday-"_

 _"I will not return to that place," Celeste stated, her gaze focused wholly on Anidre, as she refrained from shooting to her feet, "Not now, not ever." Celeste ran a hand through her black hair, loose from its ever-present braid for one before letting out a defeated sigh, "Please, let this go."_

 _"You must understand you don't belong here," Anidre retorted, slipping the blanket from her shoulders as she fixed her gaze on the young fae woman sitting on the floor before her, "the Mother has a means of guiding the hands of her children. She has always lead me true and has given us the blessing of this money as a way to tell us it's time-"_

 _"We will not waste the money that has been gifted to us on a fools whim to travel to a land of killers," Celeste's temper snapped as her voice amplified itself into a crescendo, her fists white knuckled beside her. She felt the fiery temper she had smothered for years flaring to the surface, "There isn't even enough money to take us to the mainland."_

 _How she wished Anidre hadn't snooped through her clothes, wished that she hadn't found the small satchel of copper that become their lifeline in the days when the storm had raged uncharacteristically on the coast. How she wished the conversation hadn't taken this turn and they could have enjoyed one peaceful night in an ocean of dreadful existence._

 _"We could send a letter and a gift," Anidre almost pleaded, her voice having become almost fanatic, "we could send a contribution to the Children of the Blessed, they would send for us, bring us to them and you could lead up into the fae lands, you could go home."_

 _Celeste shook her head and rose to her feet, intent on stepping away from the dreaded conversation that always reared its ugly head in peaceful times. Guilt and shame tugged at her._

 _"You must have a family," Anidre tried to reason, flinching as she realized she had ruined any chance of persuasion with the girl and had only succeeded in upsetting her, "Celeste you have never told us anything of your life or your past, surely you had a mother? Siblings? A father-"_

 _"That has never been any of your concern." Celeste ground out, her back suddenly going rigid. Anelisse was glancing between the two, worry clearly marring her beautiful features as she helplessly looked on._

 _"You are my child Celeste," Anidre replied, a fierce sort of look coming about her, "therefore you are my concern."_

 _Silence._

 _"Celeste," Anidre reasoned again, reaching tentatively towards the girl, "You do don't you my sweet child?" Her expression softened, "Don't you miss them? Don't you want to go home."_

 _"No." Celeste replied flatly, her hands wrapped tightly around the porcelain cup, a quiver beginning to dance through her body, she didn't want to think about this, to acknowledge this, "I have no desire to go back. None."_

 _"You have a family," Anidre tried again, her voice lifting in pitch, "A family that would see that me raising you had been a gift, a gift to the masters I've always wanted to serve," Celeste felt her heart twang painfully, a gaping hole forming in the center of her chest._

 _"Say that again," Celeste said slowly, cutting off Anidre's tirade, her violet eyes sharp in the shadowed room, her breathing oddly unsteady, "Repeat to me what you just said."_

 _"You were a gift from the Mother," Anidre replied, her thin hands shaking, but Amber eyes locked with Celeste's own violet, a fierce sort of crazed light in them, "A gift to prove my love to the fae lords. A gift that if I took care of properly would buy me entrance into the immortal lands of milk and honey."_

 _"That's it isn't it?" Celeste said, something like defeat in her voice, "You only took me in because I was fae," her voice trailed off, pieces aligning themselves in her mind, "I was a tool to be used for your own gaining."_

 _Celeste had always known, at least subconsciously, but Anidre had never voiced it and Celeste wasn't certain why it stung so much.  
Why would a human woman, a starving, poor widow, want to take on a child not of her own race with no means to raise her? Only if she felt she could gain something from it. Celeste had known that but to hear the words voiced and brought to light opened a pit of sorrow in Celeste that she had refused to acknowledge._

 _The last decade came into sharp focus for her, the sacrifice she had made to keep Anidre and Anelisse alive, all the guilt and pain she felt for hindering their happiness, it all flooded her at once. Some well inside of her broke as the image of a black-haired man laughing and kissing her face flashed through her mind, waves of sadness, of longing she had long suppressed flooded through her._

 _"Anelisse," Anidre spun suddenly, looking towards her daughter, a last ditch effort to turn the argument into her favor, "If you married into the Pennington line-"_

 _"No," Celeste cut in, her eyes having narrowed in on the older woman, "Anelisse will not marry that monster of a man to fund your foolish desires. "_

 _"That's what he would call you," Anidre murmured, her eyes downcast and face tight in irritation, a low careless comment designed to strike deep, "A monster. Human's don't understand your kind-"_

 _With no consciousness to the motion Celeste's hand had found its way around the porcelain mug she'd been drinking from and sent it flying into the wall._

 _A loud smash resounded throughout the room as porcelain shards splintered everywhere, flying in every direction. A screech of surprise escaped Anelisse's throat as the mug impacted on the wall, her mouth loose as she watched the shards plummet to the ground._

 _Shame flooded Celeste when she saw that she had shattered the precious cup in her fury. It only fueled her frenzy._

 _The energy in the room became palpable, strung tight like a violin string close to snapping. An eerie silence had encompassed the room and Celeste's eyes had become unusually animal like as she stood, body tight and posed to strike like a viper, the air around her almost pulsing._

 _"You're absolutely right," Celeste muttered, lifting her eyes to Anidre, lips pulling back from her teeth "I am is a monster. A ferocious, vile, hideous monster impeding on this island sense of comfort and values," she drew an unsteady breath, her entire frame vibrating, "You should have left me to die on that beach."_

 _A memory surfaced._

"Little one," she could hear his voice comfort, tears leaking down her face as his large hand stroked her wings and his other hand sat gingerly on her sleep mused curls, "you must come quietly or more of them will die."

 _A shift in the memory_.

The cold wind biting into her face. 

"What a monster you are." She heard the deep voice coo as they flew high above, the fires burning wide across the city she loved, "Look at what your power has caused, nothing but turmoil. You can't stay. We must go." 

The blinding, earthing shattering pain and the sound of tearing filling the air-

 _It ended as abruptly as it began._

 _Celeste promptly gripped her head, pain smashing through her skull as the memory took hold, a vicious growl escaping her lips._

 _Turning on her heel she raced towards the door, her mind a whirlwind of things that had long since been dormant. She needed a secluded, isolated space to deal with the storm raging in her mind. This wasn't that place._

 _She barely heard Anelisse reprimand Anidre before she was out the door and racing into the woods, trying to smother the memories she never wanted to acknowledge again. The icy rain bit into her face as she flew through the trees, their branches a blur._

 _She distantly heard Anelisse's cry to wait before she plummeted into the darkness she had long since buried._

* * *

Anelisse had found her a few hours later sitting on a soaked rock shivering from the cold, her eyes glazed and mind a million miles away.

Anelisse had coaxed her to come back to the house, had proceeded to strip her of her soaked clothes before helping wash her in the warm water she had boiled. They had both laid down on the small makeshift bed of blankets they slept on together before the fire. Anelisse had snuggled close to her throughout the night, murmuring words of soft comfort.

Celeste had not slept.

The following morning Anidre did not leave her room, from anger or shame Celeste wasn't certain, but she was thankful for the peace from the pestering. It had taken a few days, but things had gradually fallen back into a groove of semi-normalcy with no mention of the money or the fae lands.

She did not want to think on it.

A throat cleared behind her and Celeste turned around to come face to face with Anidre, her amber eyes hooded as she glanced towards the floor, her hands wringing her dress.

Celeste quirked a brow, her muscles tightening preparing to deal with another onslaught of ignorance.

"You have been a blessing," Anidre murmured, her face finally rising to meet Celeste's, silver tears at their edges, "I was mistaken in pushing you the way I did and for saying what I said, I am sorry." Anidre dropped her head and a wave of relief cascaded through her.

"Let's just move past it," Celeste answered, her hands awkwardly searching for pockets to stuff themselves into, a habit she had when uncomfortable, but having none, "things are better this way."

"Yes," Anidre replied, a stray tear slipping down her nose and she walked up to Celeste, her frame much shorter and frail than her adopted daughters, "you are right as you have always been. Let that be the end of it."

 _For now_ , Celeste thought drily, sarcastic tones dancing around the notion that Anidre was even close to finished with this argument. Her thoughts were interrupted however when the door to the second room opened and Anelisse stepped out.

Celeste stared.

Anelisse had most definitely grown into herself.

Draped in the rose gown, Anelisse no longer looked like a gangly teenager, composed of nothing but knees and elbows, but rather a grown woman, the gown doing wonders to accent that. Her ashen hair had been braided half up and her natural loose curls fell about her shoulders. Her eyes were smeared with a touch of kohl and her lips painted the softest pink, that awful cream she had almost forced Celeste to endure.

"You look lovely." Anidre complimented her daughter, watching the girl tentatively swish her skirt.

'You think?" she asked bashfully, turning once to test the flaring of the dress, it billowed wide and settled as her turn came to a stop. Anidre nodded. Anelisse turned her attention to Celeste.

"And you?" Anelisse asked, silver eyes hopefully, "what do you think sister?"

"Well," Celeste chirped, her arms crossing over her chest, a devilish smirk pulling her lips upward, "I think I'm not going to get to avoid murder this evening." She looked her nails, as though checking them for dirt, "I'm going to have to castrate every man who even glances your way dressed like that." A blush ran across Anelisse's feature as Anidre chuckled.

"You will do no such thing," Anelisse hissed, awkwardly running her hands down the front of the dress, "I intend to dance the entire evening with any suitor I see fit, with or without your approval." Celeste flashed a grin at Anelisse.

"Fair enough," Celeste patted Anidre gently on the shoulder before brushing past her and making her way towards the front of the cottage, "but don't blame me if your "suitors" mysteriously start disappearing." With a glance over her shoulder and a wink Celeste slipped through the cottage door and out into the warm evening air.

A loud, "Wait for me!" echoed behind Celeste along with a "Enjoy yourselves!" as she trotted along the path, her plum dress billowing in the evening breeze.

 _Best get it over with_ , she mused the sarcasm returning in full strength, _what could possibly go wrong?_


	6. Betrayal-Part I

A lot of things. That's what could go wrong, A lot.

Celeste hissed as she yanked at the chains encompassing her wrist, they didn't budge. She flicked her sweat drenched hair out of her face and scowled at the dimly lit cabin around her, water dripping from the wooden beams above. The dim gas light did little to illuminate the stuffy belly of the ship.

Oh, Lukas Pennington's days were numbered.

The lovely plum gown, the one Pennelope had labored over, was the only thin barrier to the thick chains, iron chains, encompassing her waist and pinning her to the ridged wooden mast. Idiots she would have called them, fools for thinking iron could hold her had it not been for the ash splinters littering her limbs.

"Don't look so put out darling," A dusty blonde headed fae man purred from his position propped against the entryway into the bowels of the ship, his mossy green and gold eyes luminous in the shadowed cabin, a predator standing guard over its prey, "I could help you ease your discomfort with those shackles you know." a flirtatious grin graced his face as he peered forward, eyes crinkling in amusement.

A growl escaped Celeste's lips that pulled a pleased chuckle from the man's lips- lips that were upturned in a self-righteous, pompous smirk that made Celeste want to smash his pretty jawbone. The smirk meshed flawlessly with his beautiful face, one of nothing but slick planes and sharp lines. Celeste might have ventured to have regarded him as attractive, stunning even, has she not been so dead set on ripping his throat out just to shut out his insufferable taunting.

Taunting that had been ongoing for the last several hours, since she'd been hung up like a freshly slaughtered pig left to bleed.

"Or not," he cooed, tilting his head to the side, sending his cropped shaggy tresses across his forehead, the strands curling at the ends with the humidity, "suit yourself. "A nonchalant shrug, dismissive. "I've had woman throw myself at me in less ideal conditions than this. You'll be the same soon enough."

Fire, angered chaotic flame, flared to life in Celeste's chest.

"Why don't you come here," Celeste bit back in in return, her lips pulling back from her teeth in a sneer, bucking against the chains around her waist, the useless iron chains, holding her in place against the beam, "and I'll ease your discomfort of existing."

"Ah ah ah," he clicked his tongue, ticking his index finger in time, his booted footfalls unnaturally quiet and light as he approached her, "there'll be none of that. Captain's orders not to ruin that pretty face of yours." He reach out a long, lean finger as though to caress her face but stopped, his thumb coming up to rest against his finger and—thunk. He flicked her on the nose.

The growl that escaped her lips was nothing less than primal.

"Oh I don't think it'll be my pretty face being ruined," she willed the chain around her waist to buckle, to break, "I think I'll break your nose first. Then you're jaw, then stomp your knees caps before ripping your spine out through your throat. How's that order sound to you?"

The ship rocked, throwing Celeste off kilter and to the side painfully. She bit down on the scream of pain as the ash splinters in her arms swelled agonizingly.

"Sounds like you're in no position to be making threats." The blonde man gave a halfhearted bow before turning on his booted heel and walking out through the archway, his shadow long in the dim light, "don't worry you won't be our problem much longer."

The man disappeared up a set of stairs and Celeste let out a slurry of curse words that would have made any sailor blush. Letting out a hiss of defeat she slumped against the mast, her head falling forward.

How had it all gone to hell so quickly? She lifted her head up and glanced around the cabin, the ichor and stench nearly intolerable. She hoped Anelisse had at least listened and had gotten the hell out. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. How could Anidre have betrayed them like this?

She forced the tears to subside, they would do her no good.

A black tarry sickness had settled in the pit of her stomach, a sickness that stemmed from the fact that Anidre had willingly sold Anelisse into marriage to fuel her own foul desires.

She forced away the images of Anelisse screaming, begging pleas as they'd stormed the house and pinned her down, a nasty lot of skulking human men that had encompassed her in ash and drug her onto a boat to be sold to the highest bidder, for a power she'd thought had vanished. She should have never saved Marrien, but she'd only acted on instinct, acted on knowing what it was like to drown-

Oh things had gone wrong, definitely wrong.


	7. Betrayal-Part II

The sound of fireworks exploded in the sky, eliciting oos and ahhs from the occupants of the town square, the bonfire's burning brightly in the evening light. The chatter of people and sweet aroma of wine filled the night air. Celeste tentatively sipped at her glass of wine, a sparkling berry medley, one of the islands grocers had offered her with a small smile and nod.

She'd sniffed it thoroughly before drinking it.

"Did you see that?" Anelisse asked, her silver eyes cast skyward and jaw loose in awe, the light of the bonfire casting her ashen hair in a golden sheen, her own glass of wine hanging limping between her fingers, "I swear they get bigger every year."

"I've seen better," Celeste replied, a small smile on her face and she leaned over towards her sister, "one's the size of the island itself, bigger even."

"Really?" Anelisse inquired, looking slightly taken aback by the sudden offer of information that Celeste so often hid, "what did they look like?"

"Lightning and flame," Celeste's arms were crossed at the wrist as she lazily swirled her wine, her eyes cast skyward as more fireworks exploded, "gold and silver, rich hues of reds, green, purple, you name it, it was there." Celeste blew a stray strand of her hair from her face, "we even had lights than raced through the sky as though they were dancing spirits themselves."

Never mind mentioning to Anelisse they actually were spirits. It didn't matter either way, Celeste mused, she just wanted to share something with her sister, some honesty that she'd been so reluctant to give.

"Whoa," Anelisse whistled, her gaze lost in imagination as she pictured the swirl of color in her mind, no doubt picking the colors apart,"I wonder what it looked like, what it'd be like to paint that."

"Lovely." Celeste replied sitting forward, thinking back on the lovely paintings that had lined the walls of her childhood home, of the ridiculously large painting of a Pegasus that had hung above her bed since she'd been a small tot of four. She wondered if that painting still hung there. "Capturing them on canvas would be quite a feat."

"I wish I could have seen them with you," Celeste quirked a brow at her sister's suddenly somber tone, her hands rubbing together absentmindedly, "but I'll just always be here in Vanica."

"What makes you so certain of that?" Celeste replied, having sat further forward to look more closely at her sister, a tug of sadness pulling at her gut upon seeing her previously vibrant sister so quiet.

"It's true," Anelisse replied, refusing to look at her sister, "I've nothing special to offer the people on this island much less the big wide world, but you..."

Anelisse's voice trailed off as she sat down her wine glass, and began to twirl an ashen curl about her finger, "the looks, the experiences, the strength," an overdramatized sigh, all signs of the previous sadness instantly winking out as she looked at her sister, the back of her palm pressed to her forehead, "oh how unfortunate I am."

Celeste wasn't buying her sudden mood change for even a moment. She set her sister a knowing look, demanding a further explanation from the blonde.

Anelisse swallowed hard.

"You're different you know, not confined to this small existence," Silver eyes glanced up, full of some unnamed emotion, "you were never meant to be stranded here, even if you choose to stay. We're mortal Celeste, our days are limited. You, you're infinite, you'll be around long after Vanica no longer exists-"

"Enough," Celeste chastised cutting Anelisse off, "you're being completely nonsensical." Celeste watched as her sister begin to sway to some invisible tune, she took a stabling breath, "when we get away from this place I want to take you to see those things, to experience them."

"I thought you were set on never leaving," Anelisse quipped, her lips tugging up at the corners, "what happened to staying safe and stable?"

"I never said I wouldn't leave, I just said I wasn't going back to where I came from," Celeste swallowed hard as the fireworks continued to boom above them, "and I'm tired of this little town, of this ignorant place. There's so much out there, more than you or I even know." She glanced towards her sister who was watching her intently.

Anelisse bit at her bottom lip, a nervous habit she'd never broken, "you would truly leave with me? We could go together?" She glanced off to the side, her curls falling over her shoulder, "but what of Momma?"

"I won't take her to the Fae lands if that's what you're asking," Celeste snorted, Anelisse shot her a look of disdain, of course Anelisse knew that, "but we could go to the mainland, one of the larger mortal cities, find real jobs and a new home."

A small smile broke across Anelisse's face, "Yes," she mused a sparkle entering her eyes, "I think I'd like that very much." With quick nimble hands Anelisse reach into the folds of her dress and withdrew a small pendant, barely the size of a thimble.

The thoughts drained from Celeste's head though when she saw the small necklace clutched tightly in Anelisse's hand, her mind vacant and silent.

"I wanted to give you this," Anelisse said, her hands holding out the exquisite round amethyst pendant, barely the size of a larks egg, on a silver chain, the light reflecting like stars off its dark surface, "I found this hung around your neck the night Mamma brought you home and have been holding onto it for you until I felt it was right to return it." Celeste's eyes focused in on the small pendant, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of it, "I wanted to keep it safe, I didn't want to lose it, or to let Mamma be careless with it."

"Thank you," Celeste managed, a sense of understanding filtering through her as Anelisse stepped up to offer the necklace to Celeste.

Celeste only shook her head and wrapped Anelisse's fingers around the pendant.

"Please keep it safe for me awhile longer," Celeste choked out, willing the tears and memories down at the sight of the piece of incriminating evidence, the one that linked her to her past, "I want to wait before I take it," Celeste shook her head, clearing her thoughts, "I want to be able to explain everything to you before I take it." Anelisse nodded her head and tightened her grip on the necklace.

"I will keep it safe," Anelisse replied, her silver eyes searching Celeste's face, "I love you very much, please know that."

"I do Anelisse," Celeste replied, patting her sisters cheek, "I do. I love you too."

Anelisse leapt forward and wrapped her arms around Celeste as though she were a lifeline. Celeste wrapped her arms just as tightly around Anelisse, her face burying into her sister's hair.

"We're family," Anelisse looked off to the side, her arms still locked around Celeste, "You and I. Momma…. I can't do this with her any longer, she's never going to change, I love her…. but I can't do this." Tears slipped down Anelisse's face, "I need something more, I'm dying in this place, there has to be more." She gripped Celeste's hand, "Let's leave, you can sail, I can sew, we can find work somewhere. We can be different people."

Something like hope coursed through Celeste's body as she held her sister close, this was the way out she realized. They could go to the mainland, find work and make a new life for themselves. Find a place where even her past couldn't follow.

"Yes," Celeste whispered, the sound of fireworks exploding above them echoing out again, "let's do it."

* * *

"He looked so ridiculous!" Celeste cackled as she threw her head back, laughter escaping her lips, "I can't believe you agreed to do that folk dance with him!"

Anelisse slapped Celeste across the arm, her cheeks flaring red in embarrassment. The cool breeze from the ocean blew in off the ocean waves and caressed Celeste's too warm skin as they made their way down the town's cliff edge, the lights and sounds of the festival still in full swing behind them.

"You're impossible!" Anelisse hissed, though her amusement was clearly heard in her voice, "What else was I supposed to do? Tell the old codger no?"

"I think it was a better alternative than to have ended up under him when he lost his balance trying to lift you like that," Celeste's cackling had subsided into soft giggles, a lightness blooming inside her that she hadn't felt in a long time, "at least he apologized, profusely."

Anelisse shuddered, "Oh he was so sweaty and stinky! The whole square was in fits about it, I'll never live this one down."

"No," Celeste chuckled, folding her arms behind her head and looking up at the night sky, "No you won't." The moon was only a small sliver in the night sky, the stars around it shining brightly in their silvery hues, twinkling as though some answer to a long sought-after question.

"Why do you always look like that?" Anelisse inquired, watching her sister with raised brows.

"Like what?" Celeste replied, her eyes still cast upwards towards the night sky, watching as a single shooting star tore across its vast depth.

"Like you're a part of it," Anelisse said, then rephrased, "like you're home. When you look at the stars your face, it always softens." The soft breeze billowed around the girls, sending their skirts dancing in the wind. The tang of the ocean on their lips.

"It's…complicated," Celeste dropped her arms from behind her head and turned to face Anelisse, violet eyes hooded. A million thoughts tore through her skull, the truth she'd so carefully hid scratching beneath the surface seeking a way free. What if she could confide in her sister? let someone know who and what she was—she took a deep breath, "Anelisse," she paused for a moment, "there's something I need to tell you-"

Celeste heard the plummet, the tearing of wind against cloth, the tiny feminine yelp, and the splash before the blood curdling scream of fear tore through the air. It jolted Anelisse and sent a frenzy of chills up Celeste's arm. Celeste stole one glance at Anelisse and, without thought or reason, raced towards the source of the scream.

Panic danced at the edges of her mind as she raced down along the jagged edge of the cliffs, quickly outpacing her sister as she tore like a dark wind towards the source of the scream. Said source that of which was coming from near where the pewter cliffs gazed out upon the ocean's surface and where the local children liked to throw wishing stones on the eve of festivals.

The energy around Celeste buzzed like lightning, the tug of an invisible bond sending her hurtling for the source of whatever had just transpired.

Sliding on the slick surface of the cliffs, Celeste found Layla, Marrien and James mother, crying and shouting towards the dark waters below. Her pale feature's were twisted in fear as she waved her hands frantically at the sheer cliff drop off, her son tucked closely into her side his soft brown eyes wide with fear. It took only moments for Celeste to piece together what had transpired.

"Please," Layla bellowed, her voice choking on the tears streaming down her face and throat, "She can't swim! Marrien can't swim! MARRIEN."

Celeste, ripping her feet free from her newly crafted boot and tossing them aimlessly to the side, took two long strides to the cliffs edge before pushing herself off in one smooth motion and diving into the swirling waters below.

The water hit her like a ton of bricks, its icy touch sending a shudder through even her immortal body. For a moment her body froze, the memories of being tossed into equally freezing waters all those years ago rising to haunt her. She thrashed her head, willing the rising fear and panic to cease, now wasn't the time. _Later_ , she placated herself, _you can deal with this later_.

With quick kicks she descended into the battering waves, looking, searching for any sign of the missing child. Yet even with her gifted fae vision she could see nothing but the tousling waters, cold, dark and murky.

Her lungs began to burn after several minutes and she was forced to return to the surface to refill her depleted oxygen. She broke the waves for only a second, the bitter cries of the mother and brother echoing into the dark night, now accompanied by the cries of Anelisse.

Celeste took in another lungful of air and dove deep beneath the waves, willing the child to appear.

She searched for several long critical minutes, returning to the surface twice to refill her lungs, before she felt the tug, that invisible thread yank suddenly and desperately from deeper in the waters. Without consideration she began swimming towards the tug, letting it lead her deeper and deeper into the rolling waves.

The cool tendrils of the dark waters wrapped around her limbs, their songs lulling and melodic willing her to them. Willing her to pull in only a small breath, since her lungs burned oh so fiercely, willing her to flow with the waves, to allow them to drag her and her heavy soaked dress down. She shoved the voices away, willing their insistent ramblings to cease.

Just as her hope was beginning to fade and her lungs felt as though they were going to burst, Celeste's eyes caught on a fleck of red and knew she had found her missing target. Her dress caught on a jagged rock, Marrien's body floated lifelessly in the waves, her small pale arms floating listlessly around her.

Gripping the child against her body, Celeste braced her feet against the jagged rocks edge and tore Marrien's dress free. Wrapping her tightly in her arms, lungs beginning to burn with such ferocity she felt she'd suffocate, Celeste shot for the surface willing her body to cleave through the waves.

She broke the surface with a loud gasp, her eyes stinging from the briny water. Marrien was completely motionless, frozen in her arms. Knowing she had no time to spare Celeste swam towards the cliffs side and gently shifted Marrien over her shoulder before digging her cold fingers into the cliffs surface and pulling herself and Marrien up with an unnatural amount of ease.

It took Celeste only moments to scale the cliffs side before clearing it and lowering the too still Marrien to the ground, her icy body swollen.

Layla was at her daughter's side in an instant, shoving herself rudely between Celeste and Marrien as she began to run her fingers over her daughters motionless and lifeless face. Anelisse was at Celeste's side instantly, her warm hands gripping her sister's cold arms tightly.

"No," Layla choked, her shoulders beginning to shake, "she's not breathing, she's not breathing! She's gone—by the Mother." Celeste, panic and adrenaline coursing through her system as she realized no life remained in the child, pushed Layla away and began working with the young girl, willing life back into her.

She shoved her soaked hair over a shoulder, vaguely aware of the crowd that had gathered and were watching with wide eyes, before assessing the child, thinking, willing some solution to come to forefront of her mind.

A lesson, one taught to her long ago, came to light in her mind as she parted the young girl's lips and forced air inside. She was met with the briny taste of salt water as it pooled from the young girl's lips, she immediately drew in another breath and tried again. For several long minutes she worked with the child, but she remained lifeless on the ground, the life having already fled the body.

A small broken whimper escaped James, the young boy's lips, as he clung to his mother skirt and watched the young fae woman try and fail to revive his limp sister.

Frustration coursed through Celeste as she lowered her head above the child, silent tears leaking from her eyes, the tears falling on Marrien's already soaked chest, failure clanging through her. The crowd had grown at this point, murmurs echoing around her, whispers and horrified gasps.

Opening her eyes Celeste looked at Marrien's face, the small sweet round cheeks that so often held kind smiles for her swollen and frozen.

It was too much.

Placing a hand on Marriens arm, intent on folding the sweet girl's arms over her chest, Celeste felt the invisible bond go taunt, hitching the breath in her throat. The world around her slowed, the murmurs of the crowd fading into silence behind her as that pit, that endless pit that she hid away so long ago pried itself open.

Tendrils of power began to seep out, upwards and through her finger tips, the caress of magic dancing through her veins.

* * *

 _A flash of green fields and warm sun consumed Celeste, her soul flying what felt as a million miles away. Glancing around she saw a field of flowers and a beautiful woman, swathed in a white dress, smile at her sweetly and reaching out for her._

 _"You've returned," the woman cooed, "how I've missed seeing your face my sweet lily." The woman stepped forward, her face hard to discern behind the tendrils of dark hair, "It seems this game is not yet finished."_

* * *

Celeste snapped back into her body instantly, just in time to hear the collective gasp as Marrien's small dead form convulsed, like a fish thrown onto land, before a shuddering breath wracked through her lungs and life once again bled into her.

Her cold frozen skin flooded with color as Celeste heard Marrien's heart jump to life in her chest, like a panicked hummingbird taking flight. Ice and relief flooded Celeste as she fell back on her heels, her soaked dress landing with a squish in the sand.

Marrien's hazel green eyes fluttered open, something like confusion there as a piercing wail tore through the night from Layla.

"Celeste," Marrien questioned, her little hand immediately fluttering up to her raw throat, "What happened?"

Celeste looked at the small girl with sad eyes before James was upon his sister, tears streaming down his face. Sobbing he buried his face into his sisters-soaked chest. Layla followed soon after and Celeste sat there and watched as the small family held themselves together.

The impossible having just occurred.

Anelisse kneeled next to Celeste, her skin pallid and she looked on with utter shock. "Celeste, how did you do that?"

Celeste said nothing.

"Impossible," Celeste heard the hiss, the deep baritone of Lukas from the crowd, "Witchcraft. That was witchcraft."

 _Idiot_ , Celeste thought numbly, too tired and disoriented to even bother barking a reply at the foolish man, _you really know next to nothing about fae._

Pain suddenly tore through her skull and she hissed, pressing a palm onto her temple. Anelisse's hands were on her immediately.

Celeste wasn't sure what happened next, the pain blurring the details, but she had the sensation of someone dragging her upright-Adder she soon realized as she felt the man's arm come around her waist supporting and the soft touches of Martha's hands smoothing her hair from her face.

"—take her home." Her ears finally tuned into the sound around her, "We'll go with you." Celeste felt the sensation of her legs moving, of walking as they made their way away from the silent crowd, their eyes boring holes into the back of her skull.

She glanced back over her shoulder, one final look and took into the thankful stare of Layla, her blue eyes still wide in disbelief, and the look of utter disgust on Lukas Pennington's face, his normally tan skin awfully pale and face distorted in rage.

Too bad he hadn't been the one who fell off the cliff.


	8. Shadows In The Garden

_The garden was wrapped in the pastel tones of early spring as lithe winds danced through the trees, the winds carrying the sweet scents of honeysuckle and jasmine. The tree branches rattled together creating a fluttering of leaves that sang a sweet song, the sound wrapping around the small, dark haired fae child._

 _Said child sat perched in the largest oak, watching with a predator's intent as the two figures, one the embodiment of light and the other shadow, in the garden chatted idly._

 _Glancing out the corner of her eye she took in the figure next to her, a boy a few years her senior with onyx hair, cobalt eyes and a scowl to rival an angry moose. The girl's lips upturned at the corners, the warm spring sun breaking through the branches and highlighting the small splattering of freckles across her nose as her eyes crinkled in amusement._

 _"What's the matter," she whispered, a name familiar on her tongue trying to come forward, gently nudging the boy in the ribs, "you look like someone poured ice water down your back."_

 _"This is ridiculous," he muttered with equal quiet, his cobalt eyes flashing in the rays of light creeping through the trees canopy, "we shouldn't be up here spying on them like this Celeste!"_

 _Her name, she remembered._

 _"Oh shush!"_

 _A rustling of wings had both children silencing themselves, burying themselves away from sight in the branches. Peering through the leaves Celeste noticed that winged man hadn't taken notice of their presence, the shadows at his wings oblivious to the two children watching the display._

 _The boy's wards had worked._

 _Delight crackled through her veins._

 _They watched in silence for a several minutes, watching the winged man slowly inch his way towards the shorter caramel eyed woman, her lips pulled up in a sweet smile, watched as he slowly reached a tentative scarred hand out towards the woman's waist, her head leaning back to look up at him-_

 _"Ooooo they're gonna kiss!" Celeste chirped loudly, her small hands clapping together in amusement in front of her. At the noise the shadows at the male's wings flared darting in a various directions and the male's eyes widened, his face snapping immediately towards the tree. The boy slapped a hand over her mouth as a small "oops" escaped her lips._

 _The man's hazel eyes immediately narrowed and the shadows at his wings quieted, dancing as though in delight, something like amusement strumming through them._

 _A sharp rustle of leaves echoed throughout the garden as the boy shoved his other hand over Celeste's mouth, his cobalt eyes wide in panic._

 _"Shut up!" the boy hissed, loudly, a pulse of power rattling out of him as his wards wove around the tree once again silencing their sound and hiding their presence, "They'll hear you."_

 _The woman, the slender lovely thing, stifled a giggled, her brows raising in amusement as she too was now looking at the tree._

 _A smack._

 _The boy's hands immediately pulled away from the girls lips, as he gripped his arm where she'd slapped him none too lightly._

 _"Oww!" he hissed, cheeks flaring red, "Why'd you hit me?!"_

 _"Cause you blew our cover!" Celeste growled back, her master plan crumbling before her, "you're the worst spy I've ever seen! You're being too loud!"_

 _He silently moved his lips, mocking, 'You're being too loud'. Turning her attention back to the figures Celeste found that only the woman remained-_

 _"Kids." A deep voice rumbled, startling Celeste so violently she shot upwards, her wings, oh her wings, knocking her off balance as she went tumbling backwards, heals over her head out of the tree. Out of instinct she braced for impact, wrapping her wings around herself for protection, knowing she was too close to the ground to glide safely down-_

 _She collided with strong awaiting arms instead and was met with the amused look of the shadowed fae male, one eyebrow cocked upwards. His face up close was very handsome, and so very familiar, as were the shadows at his wings, the shadows that nearly sang in greeting to her._

 _A name, forgotten, tried to come to life in her mind._

 _"Hey," She chirped, her arms crossing over her chest as she offered him a bright lopsided grin, her two bottom baby teeth missing, "Good catch! I didn't realize you were out here. We were just playing tag."_

 _A bemused spark darted through the stone faced man's eyes, "Tag?" he inquired looking up into the tree where the boy sat, his jaw slack and hand still outstretched where he'd tried to catch her from her tumble, "in a tree?"_

 _"Mmmhmm," Celeste nodded her head vigorously, her black hair clinging to the static off the man's shirt, he felt so safe and so warm, "Yep. It's a new kind of tag, see you sit in the tree and count to like a bazillion and then the first person who falls out of the tree is it."_

 _A pause of silence._

 _"You're so full of it Celeste," the boy grumbled from above, earning a heated glare from said girl, "It was completely her idea. I told her we shouldn't have been up here spying on you and _, I shouldn't have set up wards—"_

 _What name? What name had the boy said?_

 _"You set up wards?" the man inquired, brow raising to meet his hairline._

 _"Urghh!" Celeste hissed, flailing her arms up at the boy, violet eyes narrowing, "You're not supposed to give information to the target! Now you've gone and completely destroyed our assassination attempt."_

 _"Assassination attempt?" The woman repeated, her brown eyes wide as she came around the large base of the oak her lavender gown billowing in the breeze. She bit her lip to hide the smile._

 _Celeste stuck out her tongue at the boy above her, her eyes squinting as she made flubbing noises up at him, shoving her fingers in her ears to taunt him. The fear that had been in the boy's face immediately melted away to irritation, his dark cobalt eyes narrowing._

 _"Uh oh," Celeste chirped and immediately rolled out of the man's arms, landing on her feet her wings straightening behind her to give her balance, "Sorry! Gotta go!" Giving a quick salute she shot off through the garden as she heard the tell-tell poof of the boy disappearing into shadow. Cheater, she thought scanning out the corner of her eyes looking for him._

 _There, he appeared on her left, poised to tackle her. They both went rolling as his body collided with her own, end over end, and crashed into a smaller oak tree behind the house. The tree shuddered beneath the impact and sent a nest tumbling out of it, landing with a wet crunch and alarmed squeaks._

 _Celeste shared one look with the boy before they both peeled themselves off the ground, covered in grass and dirt, and hurried to the fallen nest. With small, gentle hands, Celeste flipped the nest over and was met with the site of several terrified baby robins crying out huddling together._

 _"Are they okay?" The boy asked, his little hands glazing over the terrified birds as guilt filling his cobalt eyes, "I didn't me to knock their nest down- "_

 _Celeste's eyes had locked onto one little robin, not moving and its neck twisted at an odd angle._

 _A well of darkness opened in her chest, déjà vu settling over her like a veil._

 _She swallowed hard._

 _A burning sorrow tore through her, stomach knotting in fear._

 _"No, Celeste," the boy mumbled, sinking next to her, silver beginning to line his eyes, his hands still gently covering the other terrified robin hatchlings, "We didn't mean too—that poor baby bird."_

 _Celeste gently rubbed the baby bird, willing it to wake up. Nothing happened. She tried again and again until she felt warm tears trickling down her cheek. This had been all her fault. Pulling the bird to her chest she let out a sob as she willed the small thing to wake up._

 _Something pulled at Celeste._

 _A tug._

 _A warmth suddenly surrounded her, easing her sorrow and coaxing her, coaxing her to try._

 _Try what? She thought, clutching the bird close. Just try, the warmth seemed to coo, a sudden tingling beginning in her stomach. Everything around her seemed to stand still for a minute as she wished, wished with all of her being, willed the baby bird to wait up a warmth, like nothing she'd ever felt, pooling in her stomach—_

 _A gasp, from the boy._

 _"It's alive."_

 _Celeste peeled an eye open and saw that indeed the baby bird had sprung back to life, it's little wings beating frantically in Celeste's hands, fear coating its scent as it reoriented itself, it's neck no longer twisted._

 _A smile took over her face, it was okay._

 _Turning towards the boy she saw that his face had gone pale, eyes wide. He stared at the bird before turning his gaze back to hers, something like fear dancing there._

 _Why was he scared of her? Had she done something wrong?_

 _Why was she so upset that the boy feared her? WHO was the boy?_

 _"_?" Celeste questioned, a name she couldn't quiet speak, tumbling from her mouth. She was so concerned at the sudden look the boy had given her. She saw his lips begin to move but couldn't hear him._

 _"_ please," She begged, feeling suddenly lightheaded and panicked, like a wild animal shoved suddenly and violently into a cage. She felt her heart thunder in her chest, a cold sweat overtaking her body._

 _Scared, she was so terrified-_

 _She shot to her feet, the baby bird left at the base of the tree, crying out for its nest mates, as she stumbled forward, fear beginning to course through her._

 _What was wrong with her?_

 _"Momma?" Celeste murmured, the flashes of a golden-haired woman coursing through her mind, a golden-haired woman who looked so much like the one near the shadows-"Papa?" the scent of citrus and the warmth of home-she felt as though the world was tearing apart around her-_

 _A sharp pain bit through her skull as she stumbled off towards the house, she needed something, anything to make this stop. Where was she? Who was she? The world was beginning to grow fuzzy around the edges, blackness blotting the things around her out._

 _She stumbled into silky lavender and soft hands. Glancing up she took in the concerned caramel eyes, fear clearly written across that beautiful face as the woman's lips moved frantically, calling someone? The man with the shadows?_

 _"Please," Celeste begged, feeling the world fall away underneath her "I don't know what happened, please- "_

 _Cool hands were on her face instantly and she was met with those hazel eyes again, always so calm and stable she recalled, filled this time with fear and his lips moved. She shook her head, the dizziness growing worse, the fear spread as his eyes widened, she couldn't hear anything—_

 _He couldn't save her. No one could._

 _Power rippled behind her, the skies darkened around her, the two beautiful strangers dissipating into fine dust carried away into the air. She knew what awaited her when she turned, she willed her legs to stay still, her head not to twist and turn to face what stood behind her._

 _Against her will her gaze was turned behind where she was met with dark monstrous legs, those of a monster, the one she feared most. Lightning shattered the skies she felt her breath hitch in her throat, dread snaking down her spine._

 _She felt herself glance up, felt her eyes lock onto that face, if one could call it a face._

 _The comfort she had felt snuffed out inside of her and was replaced with icy tendrils of fear, pure horror that tore through her in torrents. She watched that clawed hand reach down and run through her hair, the dizziness building to unbearable levels._

 _The clawed hand reach from her hair and grabbed her shoulder and yanked her around, exposing her wings to it—_

 _She couldn't contain it, the thrumming of power building-an earth shattering shriek ripped free from her lips-_

* * *

Celeste jolted upright immediately, sweat drenching her.

The second her body was awake coughing seized her, rattling her body violently against the mast that was beginning to chafe horribly at her back.

She fought to orient her thoughts, bring some meaning some semblance to what she'd seen. For the life of her she couldn't place the names to the faces, the faces to a place.

She squinted her eyes and hissed, willing some recollection of who they were to her mind. The dreams faded so quickly when she woke that she often lost most of it, everything before waking becoming a had always been like had some very clear memories; places, sites, smells and sounds but the rest blurred.

She leaned forward heavily, the chain still taut across her abdomen, her body shivering. That dream, nightmare, had seized her countless times since saving Marrien, since everything had gone to absolute shit.

Adder and Martha had taken her and Anelisse home that night, laying her down on her makeshift bed, where she had slept for days. The dreams had all been as relentless, full of things both so horrifying and lovely and wasn't sure where memory ended, and fantasy began.

She'd only been awake half a morning before the men had stormed the cottage, armed to the teeth with ash arrows, spikes and these damned chains. She hadn't even heard their approach when Anidre had gone to the door after a small knock and let them in, wolves led into the den of disabled and weak prey.

Anidre had only watched with cool disinterest as she allowed them to pin her, kicking, clawing and screaming, and chain her to that damned ash board before stating that it had to be done and there was no other option.

As for Anelisse, Celeste hadn't even given her a moment to consider fighting back when she'd screamed at her to run as fast as should could, especially after Anidre had announced that Lukas would soon be her future son in law. Anelisse had bolted for the back door and had only glanced back once, eyes wild, onto Celeste who had managed to ground two of the larger men, their blood pooling on her pile of blankets.

It took them several minutes before they'd managed to pin her down completely, several rough blows being delivered to her torso and face to keep her from tearing out their throats as they'd looped those chains around her body binding her and drove the ash spikes into her limbs.

She'd cried out in anger as Anidre had watched, swearing against the woman who had sold her own daughter into an arranged marriage all for the pursuit of the damned fae lands. Celeste had hissed her hope that the first fae Anidre encountered would show her exactly how deadly her kind could be.

It had been unnecessary.

As they'd lifted her to leave, her energy spent and chest heaving, Anidre had stepped forward demanding her part of the payment. The biggest grunt had only laughed before putting a bolt through her chest. Crimson had bloomed at her bosom, staining her yellow dress, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for breath before she'd collapsed to the floor.

Dead.

Celeste, too shocked to react, had only stared in horror as sick satisfied chuckles resounded throughout the group of men as the woman bled out on the floor, coating her blankets and Anelisse's paintings, so carefully stacked against the wall, in that same crimson.

It strummed up some dark memory in her.

Straining against her bonds Celeste prayed to the mother, to any deity listening that Anelisse had avoided Lukas and managed to get out of Vanica, even if she knew the likelihood of that was nearly zero.

Too exhausted and drained to fight further Celeste allowed them to parade her down through the town square, bound to a board like a pig on a spit, and watched as those who had shown her such contempt gloat over her removal.

Like an infection cut from a wound, now clean so that it could heal. She wouldn't let them see here cry, even as the hatred dug deep inside of her.

She was relieved to see that Martha, Adder, Pennelope and her husband, as well as Marrien's family's faces were not among the crowd.

She thought of Marrien, of her sweet round face and delightful laughter.

At least she had managed to save something.

She hung her head and finally let a few small tears trickle down her face as she felt the gentle rocking of the boat, almost like a mother rocking her child to sleep. How was she even going to get out this one? How was she even going to get back to Anelisse? Would there be anything to go back to?

Part of her wished she'd just died that night on that beach.


	9. Off We Go

Celeste's crying spell was cut short when she heard the wooden door above creak open, its old hinge crying out with age and anguish as it swung inward.

Her eyes burned as she forced her tears down, refusing to let that bastardous fae male who'd been watching over her see her cry. She'd be damned if she'd show him any weakness.

As if summoning him, she heard the light footfalls of his boots as he descended the last of the stairs, his dusty hair catching in the gaslight as he approached her, cat like eyes glancing over her as they always did, lingering. His nostrils flared slightly before his up tilted gaze cut away and upward, locking with her own.

He gave her an adder's grin.

"Glad to see you're awake," he cooed, running a gloved hand through his tresses, ruffling the already mused waves, "how are you?"

Celeste growled, low and warning.

"What do you want?" She hissed, tugging at her chains against her screaming shoulder joints, the pain nearly beyond bearable at this point, "Come to taunt me some more before disposing of me? Come closer and I'll show you how it's done."

He clicked his tongue in distaste, dismissing her.

"You're not very scary when I can clearly smell the tears on you, you know." He picked at non-existent lint on his shoulder," You're going to have to try harder than that to if you want to convince me of anything."

Cocky son of a bitch.

"See there's the problem," he continued smoothly, his hands beginning to dig in the pocket of his long brown jacket, searching, "you're always on about the threats. See maybe if you'd be nice I wouldn't have to be so rough with you-I'd venture we could almost be friends if you'd just be a bit more civil."

Celeste denied giving a response.

"Oh, suddenly quiet, are you?" His rummaging stopped as he quirked a ridiculously perfect sculpted brow at her, his gaze flickering to her chained arms only momentarily, "Well perhaps you'll be more tolerable this way-"

"You're a bastard," Celeste spat, her eyes, narrowing, her damnable temper flaring, "working with these piss ants, destroying the lives of innocent people and for what? Glory? Money? What are they promising you?"

The man only shook his head and pulled out a soft tan lump and shoved it into Celeste's face.

The smell hit her, and confusion coursed through her as her stomach turned over and groaned, her hunger having been ignored up to this point.

The fool was offering her bread.

"I don't think we disrupted a very charming life if that little hovel you resided in was any indication," he waved the bread in front of her face, she did not take it, "not to mention that lovely human woman did a fine job of selling you off for a satchel full of copper. I'd say you were worth at least a few silvers if for no other reason than you're not too awful on the eyes."

Dark green energy suddenly tore from his empty hand, filling the room with the smell of rain saturated winds. The magic was startling, Celeste watched in awe as the green eddied in his hands, she hadn't seen magic in years.

The bands of energy twirled before lashing out and snapping the chains at her waist and wrists and sent her tumbling forward, her body stiff and useless from being strung up for so long. The simpering fool caught her with a surprising amount of gentleness.

"See? That's better." He assured, his gloved hands supporting her worthless body. Her muscles screamed in relief at the pressure on her joints being suddenly relieved. With nimble fingers he plucked up her forearm before she could protest, examining the ugly welts where the ash splinters were imbedded deep, "These will need to be dealt with."

She drew her hand back, quick as a viper, intent on hitting the bastard square in the nose as pay back for all his taunting when he shoved the piece of bread in her mouth, the whole thing, halting her assault.

"Eat that," he said looking over his shoulder, his mossy eyes scanning as though he were counting, working out the details of a pattern, "you're going to need all the strength you can get when we get out of here."

She blinked, dumbstruck as she tried to process what exactly had just happened, the bread sitting idly in her mouth.

"Don't tell me you're such an invalid you don't know how to chew."

She seriously contemplated spitting the grainy goodness in his face.

His eyes narrowed as he pieced together what she was contemplating, "Don't." He warned, one finger coming up to point at her.

"You're fucking kidding," she said after swallowing the mouthful of bread, finally having decided to chew on the mass and not to spit it in the males face, violet eyes narrowing, "and you expect me to trust you?"

"You don't really have a choice darling," without warning the male grabbed her arm again and in one painful motion grabbed the largest of the embedded ash splinters and yanked it out.

Celeste barely stifled the scream as the ash tore free from her arm. The male quickly scooped up her other arm and repeated the same motion, this time earning a curse that would have made even the worst sailor blush. He worked quickly removing the wooden bits from her arms before kneeling and pulling the largest out of her calves.

She was near tears of agony by the time he finished, flicking her blood off the jagged edges.

"Not the prettiest method," he clicked his tongue as he held up the bloody splinter in a gloved hand, his eyes narrowing it disgust before tossing it to the side and rising back to his full height, "but we're not exactly working under ideal conditions- "

Celeste's temper and patience snapped.

With brutal efficiency she slammed her face into the blonde males earning a disgruntled _oof_ as he fell backwards, a satisfying crack echoing around them from his pert nose.

"You're a prick," she hissed, yanking her hands free of the blasted iron shackles, the iron bending like paper beneath her grip without the ash splinters weakening her, the blood already staunching at her wrists and ankles where the cursed wood had finally been removed, "I should shove those splinters into your eyes as retribution."

"Ouch, feisty little thing," he muttered from behind his hand now gripping his bleeding nose, his feline eyes narrowing into something like amusement, "I'm glad to see you've not the simpering little thing the crew made you out to be, I was a bit concerned."

Celeste's eyes shot daggers at him. "Why are you helping me?"

His only response was to hold his hands up in surrender, his nose still trickling blood.

A temporary offer of peace.

"Answer the damn question." She seethed at him, jaw locking, she wasn't going to let him get away without an explanation.

"We've got approximately seven minutes to get up there, get on one of the small evacuation boats and row the hell away before the guards pass on their next rounds," he replied, cocking his head, "so we'd best go, unless you'd like to waste that time on an explanation that still wouldn't please you."

She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

"I want to help my own kind," he finally relented, though Celeste could taste the lie as it came off his tongue, "Closer to six minutes now."

Celeste released a sigh through her nose, having no other options but to trust the dreadful male who'd be watching over her while she'd been strung up. She glanced down at her hands, curling them into fists, she'd have to make do with what she had.

She had to get back to Anelisse.

"Then at least tell me your name." Celeste stated coolly, smoothing her dark locks backwards and glancing around her assessing.

"Bit demanding of you considering the situation you're in," the man replied lifting his brows then wincing as they pulled on his bloodied nose, "and given that you've manhandled your savior."

"Name," Celeste repeated giving him a level stare that would have had a lesser male running, "or I start screaming bloody murder and we'll see how the crew likes their little guard betraying them."

"Gandriel," he replied, though she doubted her took her threat seriously as his brows lifted in amusement, his knowledge of her bluff written wholly across his face, he knew she wouldn't risk screaming, "does that please you now girl?"

His arrogance was smothering.

"Yes." She stalked past him on silent feet, the ache from her injuries fading and energy flooding her. She was intent on getting off the damned boat and contemplated the joy she'd have from ripping Lukas Pennington's guts from him.

* * *

They crept up the stairs quietly, Gandriel leading the way his gloved hands pulling Celeste by the sleeve of her dress, like some child who needed their hand held. Celeste dug her teeth into her lip, trying to prevent her temper from flaring.

Again.

"It's clear," he muttered as he pulled her forward, through the doorway and directing her to the right, "move quickly and watch your step there's rope everywhere and be mindful to not fall over the edge, I'd hate for you to drown."

"I know my way around a boat," she hissed in response, his hand still encompassing her wrist as his eyes scanned the boat around them, no one in sight and only soft ocean breeze offering them company, she eyed his gloved hand around her wrist and contemplated biting it, "let go."

"Not a chance," he replied with a purr, pulling her along, "you haven't earned my trust yet either, how do I know you won't bolt the second I let you go?"

Celeste suppressed an eyeroll.

The moon shone brightly above, beginning to wane and the stars twinkled around it oblivious to the attempted escape below. Celeste might have considered it a lovely night to sail with the moon bright above them under other circumstances.

In a series of quick strides, they made it to the edge of the boat, it's rocking a lull in the background. Glancing over Celeste saw the small array of dinghy's strung across its side, small but easy to maneuver.

She'd spent her own fair amount of time piloting such small vessels when untangling nets on the Maidens Pearl when she sailed with the fisherman in Vanica and had no doubt that she could easy maneuver these with expertise.

Gandriel clicked his tongue as he eyed the largest boat, strung up at the end of the row, equipped with a small sail and designed for rapid travel if the need were to arise.

"We take that one." He quipped matter-of-factly and began to pull Celeste along behind him. Stepping quietly, she followed on nimble feet and nearly lost her balance when Gandriel went tumbling forward a with a yelp of "shit" escaping his lips.

Gandriel had gone tumbling over a pile of rope and a sleeping sailor who had fell into slumber against said pile. The sailor let out a loud grunt as he shook himself awake, the large fae male sprawled across him squishing him.

"Maria?" the man asked, his voice slurred from his obvious state of intoxication, brown eyes narrowing as he squinted his vision at Celeste standing behind the grounded male, "Maria have you come back to me-"

Gandriel's fist slammed into the man's jaw sending him into unconsciousness as he slumped backwards on his lump of ropes.

Celeste couldn't help the snort that escaped.

"Not a word from you girl," Gandriel growled as he stood up, his pride clearly wounded, "Keep your mouth shut or I'll throw you off the boat."

"Are you certain you won't just go tumbling off yourself?"

He only glared.

However, the sound of his curse resounding across the boat and the thump of his fist against the sailor's face had earned a series of alarmed shouts in response.

And he was worried about HER giving their position away.

"What was that?" She heard the cry of one of the sailors across the boat and froze, her eyes locking with the Gandriel's before he muttered a curse and wrapped his hand around her wrist and bolted for the end of the boat where the large dingy was strung.

Glancing over the edge of the ship they both jumped at the same time just as lanterns flared to light on the boat, sailors beginning to prowl and see what the disturbance was.

They both plunged towards the little row boat landing with a resounding thud. Those tendrils of green energy sparked to life again and tore through the ropes suspending the boat sending them plummeting towards the water below.

The shouts of alarm from above ringing out into the night.

"What happened to being subtle," Celeste inquired her black brows knotting at the center of her forehead as she watched the men scramble above her.

"Not another word," Gandriel hissed, his pride his biggest wound from his tumble. This had turned into a joke. All of it.

Without warning the wind began blaring from the east shoving the little boat and filling its sail racing away from the ship. Storm clouds began to bloom overhead thunder crackling.

Celeste looked at Gandriel with surprise before turning and watching as the lapping waves began rocking the large ship furiously back and forth, the shouts of surprise of the men ringing out into the night.

"Storm magic," Gandriel supplied with a nonchalant shrug, glancing skywards, "it's never failed me."

Celeste watched as the slave trade boat began to capsize, the men hurrying to and fro trying to stop the inevitable as the ship began to bow against the waves beating against its side.

She gave no response as the mast of the ship cracked down its center when lightning struck it, sending the mast tumbling to the side, the ropes and twine holding the sails snapping like bands wound too tightly, twanging as they all broke loose.

A tiny hurricane had formed, centered around the slave ship, that didn't even disturb the water a hundred feet outside of its radius. The power was breathtaking in its intensity and Celeste gazed in awe as she watched the magic tear the ship asunder.

Gandriel glanced at her with a look of pride out of the corner of his eye, his arms crossed over his puffed-up chest, waiting for the compliment he was certain she would give him.

She quirked a brow.

"You still tripped over the rope."

His chest immediately deflated.

"I said that was enough."


	10. Where Curses Begin

The sunlight reflected blindingly off the seawaters sapphire surface, scattering rays of white gold across the small boats sail and creating beautiful intricate geometric patterns that swayed in time with the rocking of the dancing waters beneath. The waves lapped lazily, almost playfully, against the side of the small ship, the breeze billowing in the sail sending the boats less than pleased occupants flying across the vast expanse of blue that stretched for miles in all directions.

"One reason," Celeste hissed, pressing Gandriel against the side of the dinghy, the sweat gleaming on her brow as the heat beat down on her from overhead, the temperature near stifling in the midmorning sun, "One reason why I shouldn't throw you overboard."

Their temporary peace had come to a resounding halt once they'd cleared the wreckage of the slave ship, known as the Queens Dame if Gandriel was to be believed, and they were now here, battle lines clearly drawn.

Gandriel had refused to take her back to Vanica to find Anelisse. Had demanded that she help him find some obscure object that was only rumored to exist and that she owed to him. Had told her she belonged to him now and would do as she was told.

He was rapidly learning that Celeste didn't take well to demands of any nature.

Especially egotistical men.

"Now, now," he said swallowing nervously, backtracking from his previous demands, his golden-green eyes glancing to and fro. His long brown jacket had long since been abandoned in the heat revealing a sweat drenched white shirt and a chiseled form beneath- "There's no need to be unreasonable like this. I did save you after all-"

"Saved me?!" Celeste roared, digging her nails into Gandriel's shirt and skin harder, willing blood to pool beneath her fingers from the infuriating jackass who was pinned underneath her, "Saved? YOU literally helped a group of slave traders steal me from my home and SISTER and then have the audacity to call yourself my savior?"

Taking advantage of Celeste's rage Gandriel slipped a foot behind Celeste's ankle and shoved backwards, effectively unpinning himself. He, however, had not accounted for Celeste's fingers still clinging tightly to his shirt as she pulled him backwards with her, dangerously rocking the boat, sending it off kilter and water splashing over into its base, soaking its occupants.

"Oh I don't think so," Celeste murmured rolling and she drug Gandriel under her, pinning him with her knees. Pulling a fist back she threw her arm forward and smashed her fist painfully into the blonde males face, blood spurting as his lip split in two.

That was now two injuries she had bestowed upon the fae male.

Throwing his face to the side, blood gushing from his lip, Gandriel looped his knees around the back of Celeste's legs before rolling her over onto her back with an umpf as he pinned her, blood trickling down his chin.

"That's enough," he demanded, feline eyes narrowing as he snarled, pinning Celeste's arms above her head, his grip somehow loose enough that it didn't dig into her still sore limbs but still kept her securely pinned, "Why are you such a stubborn ass?!"

Did he think her so weak that her his limp grasp could hold her?

"I'll show you stubborn ass," She ground out, pushing her forearms up, shoving against his pinning position. Realizing she couldn't get loose she slipped her knee between his legs before thrusting it upwards, with excessive force.

A moan of pain escaped his lips as he immediately let go of Celeste's wrists, giving her the opportunity to wriggle loose and scuttle across the boat towards the sail, fulling intending on guiding the boat herself and sailing herself south, back to Vanica and her sister, not west towards some uninhabited island that supposedly held some lost treasure and fortune.

Something that only she could find, he'd claimed so confidently, that her power would be able to reach out and find.

What lies had those slave traders fed him?

"Not a chance," Gandriel barked before tackling Celeste from behind, her body slamming painfully into the wooden seat below, his much larger mass laying on top of her pinning her while her arm remained outstretched, reaching for the ropes to the sail only lying inches away, "You're going to help me and you're going to like it."

To hell with it, Celeste conceded in her mind, she could drown him then take the boat on her own to go get Anelisse-and if she drowned with him, well that was one less miserable person the world had to deal with.

With strength that even surprised herself Celeste jerked herself upwards, tilting the boat and sloshing water, and out of his grasps. With lithe motions she turned and dove forward hands aimed for Gandriel's throat. Gandriel easily dodged and scrambled to the side Celeste following close after.

Throwing themselves violently they felt the boat rock one last hazardous time before tipping just a little too far and inevitably flipping, sending both occupants into the lapping waves beneath them.

Celeste surfaced first, eyes narrowed into angry slits and she pulled herself up on the side of the capsized boat, nails digging into the wooden surface, "I'm going to kill you, slowly."

"Ah, ah, ah," Gandriel replied sending Celeste a warning look, his hands lying flat on the bottom of the capsized boat his position across from her on the side, safety out of distance of her fists, his wet hair clinging to his face and neck, "who's going to benefit if you do that?"

They glared at one another, silence permeating the air except for the gentle lapping of waves.

"You help me," Gandriel replied, swallowing hard as he watched her like she was a wild beast needing coaxing, looking like a male who had clearly bitten off way more than he could chew, "and I will help you get your sister back, I swear it."

"Why should I trust you?" She hissed, her fingers digging divots into the bottom of the boat, curling strips of wood as she drug her nails down. Her grip was strong enough that she had enough leverage to launch herself over the capsized vessel and effectively land on the pretentious ass before her, before dragging him beneath the surface and drowning him.

"You don't really have any other options, do you?" He gestured to the endless sea around them his blonde hair clinging to his face and neck, "we're in the middle of the ocean and last I checked I was the only one who had any magic that could even get this boat moving quickly enough to avoid starvation or succumbing to the elements."

"You don't own me," She stated, the wood screeching beneath her nails as she dug out more rivets, "You don't give me orders. I help you find this damned item you so desperately need and then YOU take me back to Vanica and help me find my sister. Understood?"

"One thing," Gandriel drew, his lips puckering in that way that Celeste knew he was about spout something entirely aimed at pissing her off, sliding conveniently down the length of the boat out of Celeste's reach, "your chest looks fantastic in that wet fabric."

Celeste bellowed like a hell hound.

* * *

A day later Gandriel sat in the boat, sporting a new black eye in addition to his split lip and bloodied nose as he watched Celeste pull the sails to and fro, navigating the boat with an expertise he likely hadn't suspected of her.

"I wasn't aware you could sail." He chimed, pulling his crossed legs closer to him, his boots abandoned at the end of the boat to dry, making another failed attempt to strike up conversation with Celeste.

The same attempts he had made for the last day that they'd spent on the water together after they'd struck up another temporary truce. She had silently ignored most of his attempts but deigned to reply.

"I can do many things," She explained, effectively ignoring the male as she pulled the ropes to the left, steering the boat along the path of the wind that Gandriel was steadily feeding the sail, raven tendrils whipping free from the braid she had pulled her hair into, "seeking out magical objects is not one of those talents."

"We'll see about that," he replied, unconcerned, his eyes glancing skyward then out towards the darkening horizon as the sun began to dip below it, "the Captain of that ship was fairly certain you had the gift to find lost objects based on the report of that human male in Vanica so I'm willing to take my chances."

"Your loss when it doesn't work." She replied smoothly, trying to prevent her mind from focusing on her sister, on the fact that she had been left to the hands of Lukas Pennington.

Her skin crawled in response.

She loosed a tight breath from her chest, it had been two weeks since her capture, two weeks since Anidre's blood had soaked through her blankets on the floor.

She gritted her teeth, the image of her adopted mother haunting in her mind. Anidre had been many things but Celeste wasn't certain she would have wished such a damnable death on the woman. Not that it mattered any longer.

She felt the familiar tug of hunger in her stomach, more satiated that it was accustom to, but still annoying as she burned her reserves of energy piloting the boat.

Gandriel had not bothered to pack any supplies prior to their escape so they had been left with nothing but the clothes on their backs and a small canteen of water which they had finished hours before as they raced towards this mysterious island that Gandriel claimed held an object of immense power.

An object that supposedly would sell very well if they could claim it.

If.

The cry of gulls suddenly sounded above, and Celeste glanced up, watching as the seabirds circled to and fro. A sign that they were finally approaching land.

Gandriel whistled, pushing himself upward out of his seated position, "We're almost there."

Sure enough on the horizon a thin line of green had appeared, it's surface covered in mist and the sky above the island a muted grey color where clouds hung overhead, seeming to absorb the fading light as the sun began to kiss them goodnight.

A chill raced down Celeste's spine as she took in the island, a sinking feeling of dread raising up to meet her as she watched the stone structures begin to pop up as they approached, like grave stones shoved up from the ground, an eerie silence permeating as they grew closer. The gull's cries muted above them, the birds having flown in the opposite direction, fleeing.

Whatever was on that island was not keen on outsiders.

"What," Gandriel inquired, having risen from his seated position and leaning against the small mast next to Celeste, his eyes alight with amusement as the last of the sun's rays flared the gold in his eyes to life, "getting a little spooked by some mist and storm clouds?"

Celeste shook her head.

"Those aren't natural," she replied matter of factly, releasing her grip on the rope opening the sail and tying it through the loop on the base of the boat. Her skin beginning to prickle as the temperature dropped, something she was certain, wasn't just the effect of the fading sun, "whatever's on that island doesn't want visitors."

"Well that's most unfortunate," Gandriel said with a devilish grin, the island rising up before them as they cleared the last few miles of ocean between them and the green land, ancient ruins finally coming into focus as the lone calls of ravens echoed in the distance, "the item is supposed to be in the base of the largest ruin, guarded by wards written by the ancient fae thousands of millennia ago."

His finger came up and pointed towards the largest looming structure, centered on the tallest hill, "and my bet is that that's the one."

The looming stone structure made Celeste's throat go dry, it's cracked surface littered with green moss, it's infrastructure beginning to fail it. The energy from it seeming to warn, commanding that no one approach or touch it. It felt like a living, breathing tomb.

"You're going to have to reach out, poke around it," Gandriel continued his eyes narrowing as he focused on the island, "see if you can find any power emanating from it. The island itself should be abandoned, it's rumored that only ruins and the bodies of those who last inhabited it remain."

Celeste was certain that wasn't the case, voices beginning to call to her in the back of her mind, the way they had the night under the water when she'd dove off the cliff to rescue Marrien. Whatever dwelled here was ancient and powerful.

"Then what?" Celeste asked, the urge to whip the boat in the opposite direction and flee becoming stronger as they approached, her instincts screaming at her to run. She could make out seven dark blotches on the tower of the largest ruin, the raven's she assumed, "and what are we do to? Knock on the door?"

"We'll just have to walk up and say hello." He replied with a purr, his hand patting Celeste on the shoulder as they cleared the last hundred feet to the island, the waters becoming dead beneath them, no movement and no sign of life.

Celeste cut him a dry look, her brow rising to meet her hairline and she tried to suppress the shudder than coursed through her body at the thought of having to even step foot on the island.

The boat came to a slow stop as Gandriel's wind pushed the dinghy the last few feet to the shore and stopped as the boat stuck in the sand, it's halt a sickening groan.

The beach was simple enough, fine sand intertwined with large round pebbles that peppered the length of it, bits of shell protruding out. It was what sat above the grass overreaching the beach that left Celeste's body quaking, the mist.

It was denser than what she had detected on their approach from the ocean, darker than she had ever seen before, more like smoke, murky.

It was entirely conscious.

A chill raced down Celeste's spine as she watched the mist dance on the island's edge, moving as though it had a mind of its own, beckoning. The song and cries beginning to crescendo in the back of her mind.

Something was very much alive and aware here, as if calling it she felt it's attention snap to her, the mist beginning to move down the beach, searching.

The alarm bells screaming her mind.

Whatever it was knew they were there.

"Gandriel we really sh-"

He hopped off the boat, a resounding squish echoing from his boots, having replaced them on his feet, and began walking up the length of the beach towards the encroaching mist, completely oblivious to the wrongness of it all. Every step his took left Celeste's body screaming _wrong, wrong, wrong, trespasser, outsider, leave, wrong._

Gandriel stopped and turned to face her, his insufferable grin still painted across his now shadowed face, the last tendrils of the sun having vanished beneath the horizon. No breeze even danced as though the wind died the second it touched this cursed place, "Well?" He inquired dipping his head towards the ruins, less than half a mile's hike away, "shall we?"

 _For Anelisse._

And, against her better judgement, Celeste stepped off the boat.


	11. The Steppes

_"Brother!" Celeste cried out giggling, her large almond eyes crinkling as she held her hands out towards Cenric, holding a small leather-bound book, beckoning him to her, "Will you read me this story?"_

 _"Of course," he replied, his cobalt eyes shining as he plucked the book from his sister's hand replacing her empty palms with one of his own, smiling down at her, "shall we?"_

"Hands up pup!" Cassian snarled, slamming his fist none too gently into Cenric's block, snapping him instantly out the memory. Grunting Cenric felt himself skid backwards from the force, his forearms shuddering in pain from the impact. His lips curled back from his teeth in annoyance, "If you rely on that guard too much you're going to be dead, so move!"

He growled in irritation, shaking his head free of the memory, _why were they practicing now of all times?_

Pivoting on his left foot with fluid grace he carefully avoided the well place strike from Cassian's fist. Twisting, he swung his own fist forward and connected with Cassian's thick forearms, pain shooting down his knuckles, the wrappings doing little to negate the impact of the blow.

"Stop throwing punches like a child," Cassian barked, his black hair swaying as he lunged to the left, his fists swinging, peppering Cenric's defenses, "concentrate or I'll make you."

The general's strength was overwhelming and he furiously landed hit after hit against Cenric, driving the boy backwards across the frozen ground-his leather clad feet digging deep into the mud as he tried to hold his position.

 _Shit_ , Cenric thought trying to avoid the full impact of Cassian's blows _, focus._

 _"You know," Celeste drew, her small sweet face pulling into that infamous pucker, the one that usually ended up getting him in trouble because he could never deny what was requested after it, "you could always sneak downstairs and get me cookies before bed." She fluttered those eyelashes, "since you love me?"_

 _"Okay fine," Cenric half-heartedly grumbled, throwing his energy out to see if his parents were still awake, "I'll be back in just a minute, hold tight."_

With an unexpected twist Cassian roundhouse kicked Cenric, pulverizing his jaw and snapping his neck to the left, effectively breaking his guard and sending him tumbling backwards.

Cenric hit the ground with a loud thump, his entire form jolting as it collided with the frozen ground. For a moment his eyes only registered the blue above him, the clouds moving lazily across its surface the throb in his jaw the only sensation he felt.

 _You would have laughed relentlessly at me._

Groaning he rolled over onto his side, chest heaving as he looked up at the looming form of Cassian above him, scowling.

"You're not paying attention," the looming male critiqued, brows rising, "If that had been actual combat you would have been taken down in a matter of a few maneuvers. That's the worst spar we've had in months."

Cassian jerked his chin over his shoulder, indicating the rings behind him, "Get up. If you're going to act like a fledgling then you're going to train with the fledglings."

"I'm not a fledgling," Cenric muttered up at Cassian, cobalt eyes narrowing as he felt the power build beneath his skin, wanting to crack out, to be released, an ominous and unrelenting thrum _, why couldn't it have manifested then?_ "I've earned my spot here so stop threatening to throw me back in with the grunts."

"Then quit acting like the grunts," Cassian replied matter-of-factly, his hazel eyes narrowing in understanding as he offered a hand out to boy, "you're better than that. If you don't get it together you're not going to be ready for the rite."

"You think I'm not aware of that?" Cenric snapped, swatting the hand away, his normal good nature shoved away and a rare streak of grumpiness shining through, _couldn't they have done it on any day but this one?_ "Let's just call it quits, we can pick up where we left off tomorrow."

Cassian released a sign through his nose, running his hands through his sweat soaked locks, "Look I know today's rough on everyone, but you've only got a few weeks to get ready kid—"

It was Starfall.

She would have been 23.

"And?" Cenric shot back, launching to his feet, his body coiling and springing with cat like grace, his limbs lined with a strength few fae possessed, so much like his father in both appearance and power, "you think one day is going to make a difference on that mountain?"

His arms crossed over his chest, his leathers full of sweat, shaggy raven locks falling in his face, "One more day of getting smacked around isn't going to change the fact that they're going to be out for my blood, I can handle it, _handle them_."

Enough was implied in that phrase. Some of their sons and cousins were still alive, alive when _she was not._

She should have been home primping her curls and fretting over dresses.

Teasing him relentlessly about something, anything.

"You're lucky they're even letting you take the rite," Cassian snapped, the snarl tearing from his lips making the birds in the nearby trees flee, "You're not even half Illyrian and Delvon has been protesting from the moment we suggested you joining."

Even after everything, rebellions and all, Devlon had still remained loyal to the Court of Dreams and had even softened in some ways-one of those ways allowing a mixed blood barely Illyrian with no wings to compete in the rite, even if his protest were loud at every turn.

"Don't you think for one second I'm going to let you on Ramiel without the proper training to defend yourself," Cassian straightened his shoulders, tucking his chin as he stared his nephew down, hazel eyes flaming, "you're not ready."

"I am Uncle," Cenric replied, his brows knotted at the center of his forehead, his power dampening, its pull loosening itself. Instead a well of sorrow began opening in his chest, absorbing the anger, chiseling away at the hot red fire that was turning to smoldering ash, "but today, I can't do this today."

"She wouldn't have wanted to watch you die on that mountain," Cassian replied, his hazel eyes softening, fear lingering there as he watched his nephew carefully. The love and will to protect was endless in that gaze, something that had only solidified since the death of the Court of Dreams star, "not to mention your mother will kill me if I let you fail."

"I know," Cenric replied, his breath fogging in front of him, the temperatures still plummeted even in the early throes of springs, the sweat on his brow now starting to become frigid _, she must have been so cold when she die-_ "I just need space."

"Then go," Cassian jerked his chin towards the mountains, unwrapping his hands, "run some laps, clear your head, then meet me back here for one more round then we'll head back to Velaris."

Cenric only nodded in reply, shaking himself before turning on his heal and jogging across the camp, intent on looping around the outskirts of the tents and letting his mind wander.

He knew Cassian meant well, knew that his uncle only wanted to watch his wallop every self-serving lord's son on that mountain and to show them exactly what blood ran through his veins. He wanted to watch him walk off that summit without a mark on him-

The guilt was near suffocating.

It had been thirteen years and still her birthday haunted him.

He picked up steady pace and moved easily around the camp, a few of the younger Illyrian females sending glances his way, their interest not so easily hidden. He scowled and ignored them, their interest and pining the last thing on his mind.

He couldn't forget the fear that had cascaded through him when he'd heard the news that she was missing, gone. Couldn't forget the lump in his throat as he'd watched his family winnow from the old townhouse, panic and horror lining their faces as they scrambled trying to find her, to get her home.

He picked up his pace, his hair bouncing as he glided around the camp outskirts, the tattered remains of former bastard's tents billowing in the cold breeze.

He'd remained with Elaine in the Riverside Estate, her warm arms pulling him close to her, her warm tears soaking his hair as he stood there helpless, useless.

Elaine had known she was gone, Cenric was certain, though she'd never voiced it. had known as she'd held him close and quietly mourned.

He'd never told her goodbye.

Had never been able to protect her.

He picked up his pace, gliding up a steep incline, rocks rolling beneath his boot clad feet.

It was why he'd chosen to fight in the rings only weeks after her death, to be trained with the Illyrians as his father, uncles and aunt all had.

He'd never wanted to be a warrior, that had been her dream, Celeste's dream, but knowing how to defend those he loved, so that that loss never happened again, he was glad to subject himself to whatever it'd take to ensure it.

He'd happily thrown himself in that cold ring, had happily allowed the bigger boys to slam him over and over again into the mud, smashing his shoulder and face, littering his body with bruises. His father had only watched in silence, knowing not to intervene. He had patched Cenric up, along with the smoothing hands of his mother, when he'd stumbled into that small cabin after that first night.

Cenric allowed himself to grow as he had, both physically and magically, so that he could protect that which he loved most, since he couldn't have protected her.

His heart stung in a way he wasn't sure would ever fade.

He was happy for the rite, for the opportunity to slaughter the sons and relatives of the traitors who'd taken his sister from him; and he'd happy slit all of their throats when he set foot on that sacred mountain, come victory or death.

* * *

"You're being unusually rough," an icy voice echoed behind Cassian, lithe footfalls falling against the frozen ground, the smell of her engulfing him, unknotting the tightness wound in his shoulders, "what's eating at you?"

Cassian turned his attention to his brassy haired mate, to Nesta, and released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Her beauty still knocked the breath from him, the power and grace that oozed from her, a queen unbendable. Especially with the site of the powerful and nearly unwieldable bow strapped across her back, a weapon she'd master in a fraction of time it should have taken her.

He'd never stood a chance against her.

"He's too distracted," Cassian replied, rubbing at his sore neck, the inkling of guilt beginning to bloom around the edges of his mind for kicking the boy so hard in the face, "He's so focused on killing all of them that he's not taking his own safety into account."

Cassian shook his head, glancing skyward, "he wants so badly to extract some sort of revenge, even if it's against those who had no part in the rebellion."

Nesta's steel eyes were as bright as they'd always been, silver flame unwavering, "Do you blame him?"

Cassian cut her a sidelong glance.

"Never."

The only reason he hadn't done it himself was to prevent another all at rebellion and war in the camps, they'd lost enough as it were.

Nesta stepped up to Cassian, her leather's hugging her lithe figure, and reach out a gloved hand, resting it on Cassian's bicep. Her acceptance and willingness to participate in small public displays of affection growing with each passing year, the connection to her mate smoothing her frayed edges, not that she'd ever admit it.

Nesta had taken to training the woman in the camps, had created her own unit in the aftermath of dealing with the trauma of her father's death and in realizing her soul bonding with Cassian. Over the last century she'd build a remarkable group of incredibly fast and skilled woman who, frankly, put the male warriors to shame.

The true pride of the Illyrian Steppes.

Cassian only wished she'd been able to help train their niece.

Cenric was right to be as upset as he was, she should have been there in the thick of it all.

"Today would have been about her," Nesta replied, her voice unwavering, though Cassian saw the fury ripple beneath the surface, that raw energy, the embodiment of death, that she'd stolen from the cauldron, peaking out, "You can't blame the boy for his feelings. He's not the only one who feels that way."

Cassian didn't respond, his mind also wandering to a place he tried to not venture. It'd been three weeks since they'd been to the grave, since everything had halted for them to mourn, before spiraling off back into normal. That grey headstone stuck to the front of his mind, a stinging failure.

"Let him think," she stated blandly, her icy eyes locking with Cassian's own earth toned ones, "the girls are itching for a man to throw around anyway, why don't you go help them."

Cassian cut her a grin, "you just want to watch me get my ass handed to me by your girls."

"Absolutely." Nesta squeezed his shoulder before letting go, "Now make use of yourself. I'll deal with Cenric."

"Very well," Cassian pressed a light kiss to Nesta's temple before stalking off across the mud, rolling his shoulders in preparation of the hell cats fury he knew he was about to be subjected to, he glanced over a shoulder calling, "try to leave some skin on the poor kids behind."

Nesta let out one sharp snort before turning her attention away from Cassian, waiting on her nephew to come to her.

Cassian chuckled mirthlessly, his hands shoving in his pockets, rustling his wings as he stalked towards the high pitched laughter of Nesta's unit. Cassian watched as the girls flared their wings, taunting one another and for the briefest moment imagined what Celeste would have looked like amongst them.

 _Damnit kid_ , Cassian thought feeling a tingling at the corner of his eyes, _I'm sorry_.

* * *

Cenric wrapped back around after a couple laps to where he and Cassian had been training and was surprised to see his aunt in his uncle's spot.

"Nesta," he greeted, the run having worn some of the edge off his anger, "Where's Cassian."

"Training with the girls," She popped her neck and stepped forward, her ice eyes watching him with a predator's intent, Cenric immediately felt the blood drain from his face, "you're training with me now."

He immediately regretted his choices.


	12. Stained Glass and Pastries

Cenric rolled his shoulder in agony, his face aching, throbbing from the deep-set bruise encompassing the expanse of his eyebrow, trying, and failing, to ignore the tick of pain emanating from his skull every time his pulse flickered.

Nesta had beat his ass into the dirt.

Had utterly dominated him until he'd been nothing but a wheezing mess on the ground and she'd stood over him looking at him with that indifferent stare and quirked brow she always regarded him with.

He'd learned his lesson.

And never wanted to lift himself from the couch again.

"She really did do a number on you," Elaine said by way of greeting, her brown eyes squinting in concerned as she came around the large arched corner from the kitchen, a tray of tea and sugary cakes in her delicate hands and her rose petal pink gown swishing about her legs, "she really shouldn't have done that."

"It's fine Elaine," Cenric replied, feeling the clotted blood in his nose flutter as he tried to breathe through the appendage, he winced, "she's only trying to get me ready for the rite." _By beating me half to death._

Elain clicked her tongue in distaste, setting the silver tray down in front of her nephew on the small clawed foot coffee table. The warm afternoon sun dripped in through the large bay windows overlooking the lazily flowing Sidra, the golden hues pooling against the rich wooden interior of the sitting room, accenting the beautiful tapestries and paintings hung across the walls.

This had been the home he and Celeste had both been born and raised in, the home their mother had designed from the ground up, from the plush carpeted floors to the high vaulted ceilings above where stained-glass skylights peppered the cream floors in kaleidoscope colors.

The home where as children he and Celeste had played and grown together, here and the old townhouse.

"Rite smite," Elaine said with a shake of her head, golden curls flitting with the motion, dumping several large sugar cubes into one of the small cups before scooping up the small tea pot and pouring the dark liquid over the pile, "all of this fighting nonsense is befitting of barbarians, not noble young men."

She lifted the cup and handed it over to her nephew, gently setting the warm cup into his cold hands.

Cenric cocked his head, shooting his aunt a look as he sipped at the hot tea, sweetened to perfection, "You do remember who you are intending to wed, don't you?"

"Azriel is not like that," A blush flashed across her cheeks and up her pointed ears, her hands knotting nervously in her gown, no longer having a tray to keep them occupied, fidgeting, "Oh fine, the lot of them are- but still, it hurts me to see you battered and bruised."

Her caramel eyes softened as she glanced over her nephew, "do not forget some of us remember the days when you were small and helpless, totting about."

Cenric felt a blush rise on his cheeks, the earnest look in his aunts' eyes bringing shame to him over his piss poor attitude that morning that had resulted in him taking such a beating.

"I know, I'm sorry," Cenric looked down into his tea, guilt beginning to blossom in his chest, "I just want to do well, I want to do what's right _." I want to undo the past and make things right._

Elaine must have read between the lines, like she always did.

Cenric heard the soft rustle of fabric and felt the warmth of Elaine's hand as she took his in her own.

"You will," she reassured, his cobalt eyes rising to meet her brown ones, caramel swirls of rich gold flickering at their center, a beacon of comfort that always found a way to steady him, "and we'll all be here waiting for you when you come back."

He heard the unspoken words, loud and crystal clear.

 _She loved you very much but she wouldn't want you to dwell, to let it destroy you._

Elaine squeezed his hand once again and nodded before letting go and rising, moving back to her seat on the couch adjacent to his.

He'd always had support, a family to love and nurture him, something that many others didn't have the privilege of experiencing. Sometimes he forgot that when his anger and emotions blinded him. He lifted the hand Elaine had held up to his tea, gently holding the porcelain mug to his lips, contemplating.

"He'll be fine," A rumbling voice answered from the kitchen, midnight and stardust coating that tone, nearly the same pitch as Cenric's, "he is mine and his mother's son after all."

Rhys looped around the corner, his immaculate black coat and trousers cleanly pressed, clearly dressed and ready for Starfall, his black wings tucked in as he moved across the massive sitting room. His violet eyes trailed along his son's battered face, the corner of his lips slightly down-turning at the sight.

"She really did wallop you," Rhys replied, a small chuckle escaping his lips, running his hand through his dark locks, bemusement lighting up his father's face.

Cenric scowled.

Rhy shoved his hands in his pockets, "Cassian said you were flailing about like a newborn fawn in the ring."

"Cassian needs to learn when to shut the hell up," Cenric grumbled, sinking further into the couch, his pinky quaking as he pulled the cup of warm liquid to his lips. He hadn't been focusing on where he'd been placing his hits _, flailing like a newborn fawn indeed_.

Rhys only supplied a small chuckle as he walked passed the back of the couch, his large hand landing affectionately on his son's head, tousling his already mused hair. "Tomorrow I'm taking over with the sparring, you can beat up on your old man instead."

A tendril of relief coursed through Cenric's veins, no more sparring with the queen hell cat, at least not for a while.

Reaching forward, ignoring the agonizing pull and pop of his shoulder, he scooped up a raspberry tart and plopped it in his mouth, savoring the rich berry flavor.

A small disgruntled nose slipped past his father's lips.

"You smell worse than Cassian after a week of camping," Rhys commented as he rounded the corner of couch, wrinkling his nose, "go get a bath. I don't know how Elaine's tolerating it."

"It's no worse than Azriel after a day of training," she answered quietly, her cup held to her lips as she sipped delicately at her tea, brown eyes unfocused staring off into the distance, "I barely register it anymore."

"Well that only makes one of us," Rhys jibed, rooting Cenric's from leg it's resting place across his knee, earning a hiss of pain as soreness tore through his muscles as he foot landed on the plus carpet with a padded _thwap,_ "go change your clothes and get ready for the evening."

Cenric grumbled before shoving himself upright, grabbing several sugar dusted pastries and shoving them simultaneously, much to the dismay of Elaine and amusement of his father, in his mouth before sauntering off towards the large spiraling staircase that led to the second and third floor suites to where his private room and bath were, his legs screaming in protest.

"And Cenric," his father called after him, making him pause on the stairs and look back over his shoulder cobalt eyes locking with violet, "comb that hair of yours."

The dark haired fale male snorted and raised his hand in acknowledgement.

 _Do everything with love_ , he could hear her say, with that tinkering bell like laugh and wisdom that dated her beyond her mere nine years, _and if that doesn't work, smack 'em with a broom._

* * *

"He really didn't smell that awful." Elaine replied, still sipping at her tea shifting her gaze up to Rhys, her sister's husband, and her now longtime friend, a friendship that Rhys was immensely grateful to have.

"No," Rhys shook his head, his attention focusing on the lengthy staircase where his son had disappeared up several moments before, "but he was content to sit there and brood for the rest of the evening instead of getting ready for the party tonight, the boy needs a little encouragement."

 _Sounds like someone I know_ , a voice hummed at the back of his mind sending his mind to curl in delight around its appearance, stroking it in greeting, _you Illyrians are such sensitive things_.

 _He's only a fourth love_ , Rhys replied down the bond, caressing that thick band that had become his very existence _,_ his life line and will _, you can hardly attribute his sensitive nature to that blood._

A palpable eyeroll danced down the bond _, if he were anymore Illyrian he'd be as unbearable as the rest of you are._

"And a few less bruises." Elaine added after a few moments, interrupting he and his mate's internal conversation. She sat down her tea.

A roaring sensation collected at the end of that bond, at the images Feyre had glanced from inside Rhy's mind. He met it with soothing darkness, trying to quell the feral mothering instinct that had prowled under his mate's skin since she'd first brought life into the world.

He'd have to speak to Nesta about it.

Again.

 _Don't bother_ , he heard Feyre reply her voice eerily calm, those dark claws beginning to emerge at the edges of her energy, _I'll speak with her._

Elaine must have read the look on his face, sensed the silent conversation as she replied, "She thinks she's helping."

Feyre's fury dampened a bit, a touch of understanding fluttering down the bond.

"Tell Feyre there's no point in fighting with Nesta," Elaine rose from her seat, placing her now empty tea cup on the tray along with the remaining pastries, "she's not keen on losing another child in this family, even if her methods seem unorthodox."

And there it was.

It was easy to forget that Nesta loved Cenric just as deeply as everyone else, even though her means often did not come across in such a way. _The ice queen never completely thawed_ , Rhys mused to himself and his mate, a kernel of truth shining there.

Elaine lifted the tray with fluid grace as she tipped her head in farewell before making her way towards the kitchens, "I need to help Nuala and Cerridwen finish the pies for this evening, tell Feyre I hope she intends to wear that beautiful lapis gown she was eyeballing in her closet, it'll go well with the decorations this year."

"I'll let her know." Rhys replied, watching as the thin female disappeared into the noisy kitchen, the clanking of pots and rich smells permeating the home.

Feyre's fury eddied away and her voice quieted, contemplating. Rhys reach out a delicate tendril of energy to comfort, to soothe.

 _Elaine's right_ , Feyre finally conceded down the bond after several long moments, though her motherly pride still balked at the idea, _the rite is fast approaching and he's going to be on his own out there, he doesn't have an Azriel or Cassian to help him like you did._

 _I know._ The thought was something that had lurked in Rhys thoughts since Cenric had petitioned to join the rite earlier that winter, demanding to be included because his blood demanded it.

 _He's strong_ , _unbelievably strong_ , Rhys supplied thinking proudly on the memories of watching his son dominate opponent after opponent in the ring with only physical strength, not to mention his insurmountable magical ability which left even himself in the dust, _he'll be ready, I'll make sure he's ready._

 _I know you will_ , she replied her energy taking on that distant tone that set Rhys heart in disarray, the distance that made him want to tear down walls to get to her and never let her go _, we cannot lose both of them._

 _We won't_ , Rhys swore with the entirety of his being, the image of Celeste rising up between them, every detail of her face still clear as day in their memory, tied so deeply to their bond, _even_ _if I have to work him to the bone for the next few weeks, day and night, to ensure it._

They had mourned that day three weeks prior, the day they had set aside all those years ago to be dedicated to her entirely, had reflected on what could have been different and how they had failed. Tonight, however, was not meant to be that way. A promise they had all made in light of it all.

She wouldn't have wanted anyone to be sad on her birthday, to have wept and mourned what couldn't be changed. No, she would have wanted a huge party with tons of gifts and cake.

So they had sworn, as a court, as _a family_ , every year that they would celebrate that day, celebrate the life she had _lived_ , even though she could not be there with them. They would sing, dance and drink to keep her memory alive, to honor her in the only way left that they could.

A tendril of love slid down and wrapped around his heart, thanking him.

 _So about that dress_ , Rhys flashed an image down the bond, slowly taking the stairs up to the second floor, to where his mate was primping for the evening, _did you find that package of fun unmentionables I picked up for you on the bed?_

A rush of coy playfulness rushed down the bond, _I don't know mate why you don't come and find out._

 _I fully intend to._


	13. Into the Depths-Part I

This is fine, Gandriel reassured himself glancing to and fro, his eyes narrowing, trying to make out the path beyond the unnatural dancing mists that had reach out to greet them, encompassing them in a soft and oddly cool embrace. He tried to ignore the dead silence that encompassed them, only broken by the occasional thump of a mused rock that rolled when stepped on, most definitely fine.

A twig snapped.

He nearly screamed.

"A bit jumpy are you?" Celeste, as he'd finally learned her name was, drew, cutting him a dry look. Her unbelievably bright star flecked eyes locked onto him, unflinching. He could see the wheels turning in her mind, stripping away his bravado piece by piece.

She could tame a viper with that look.

Under the moonlight she was undeniably striking, more so than any other fae women he'd ever laid eyes on.

His eyes glanced down and noticed she had been the one to step on a particularly large twig, had snapped it with a bit more force that her light steps could have made.

She was also unbelievably wicked.

She was toying with him.

 _I'm fine._

He supplied her a sultry grin.

"Hardly," he offered her an arm, winking at her trying to smooth over the edges, "however if you're scared I'd be happy to escort the fearful lady up the path." She gave him that flat stare, she wasn't buying it, not even for a second.

 _This is fine_ , he dropped his arm and shrugged his shoulders, making it seem like no great loss, _it is all going to be just fine_.

They made their way up the inclined rolling hills that surrounded the large structure, the moss and grass so thick and wet that it squelched with each step they took.

No signs of life stirred on the island, as though their arrival had sent any living thing into hiding, except those damn ravens watching their obvious approach, occasionally shifting their wings from their perch on the tombs stone top. Only the swirling eddies of the mist, directed by an absent force, like a conductor leading a silent symphony, accompanied them. The old dead trees loomed skyward, basking their grey-washed skeletons in the moonlight, no wind ambling their branches.

This sure didn't match the description he'd found in that old sodden leather-bound book in that rusty trunk in Marchedor, the one that described this place as a blooming peaceful isle that's silence brought enlightenment to whom ever stepped foot on it's soils. This was more like the excerpt from one of the horror tales weaved on All Hollows Eve aimed to scare the children away from creeping about the city at night.

It's position had appeared on that old damp map, an itty bitty tiny red dot centered in the vast expanse of ocean residing to the west of the main continent, almost exactly in the middle between itself and Prythian, due North from where that accursed wall had once sat.

The place where some hidden treasures of ancient times was supposedly hidden, if that soggy old molded journal was to be believed.

Based on his calculations it was at least three weeks travel under ideal conditions from Vanica. Two of those weeks had been supplied by the slave trade boat he'd conveniently offered his services to in the dead of night in Portmouth, ash arrows and knives aimed at his throat as he smooth talked his way into working with them. Convincing them that having an extra set of fae hands around would prevent any of them from getting their throats ripped out by any cargo they were sent to capture.

The last week, shortened to just under two days of sailing thanks to his storm magic, was supplied by Celeste, an expert sailor and prime navigator much to his surprise and delight.

She'd proven to be useful beyond just her initial purpose, even if his jaw still cracked uncomfortably when he opened his mouth.

He glanced side long at her, weighing his calculations about her gifts, watching with sharp eyes to see any peek of that forbidden magic rising to peek through. That magic that old scrying glass had shown him that would help him in his little predicament.

He saw none.

She had seemed relatively normal except for that temper and those looks of hers upon meeting her, but he could palpate the thrumming well of magic coiling beneath her skin. Something in Gandriel knew that he had made the right choice.

He quirked his lips, eye glistening.

She would do.

They surmounted the last hill, the mist beginning to peel away from them, dancing away, as they took the final steps towards the stone tomb that lay before them.

Now he just had to get into that tomb without pissing himself.

The thing was absolutely gargantuan.

Tall stone pillars loomed above them, cracks running parallel along the edges of their structure where vines peaked out, having over taken the ancient stone and crushed it beneath it's grasp. A low wide staircase laid at the lip of the entrance, it's pale surface almost blindingly bright in the moonlight and at its center in front of its stone sealed entrance, stood a black stone.

Just the sight of it sent Celeste's senses reeling, its other worldliness beckoning her closer. Its inky surface absorbed all the light cast on it, like a void that swallowed everything whole, so at odds with the bright tomb that surrounded it.

Whatever they were looking for, that stone served as a marker and warning to any who tried to access the crypt, Celeste was certain. Gandriel stopped next to her, his tan skin glistening in the humidity under the moonlight, his golden hair having curled at the ends as it'd dried.

"Do you feel anything?" He asked, sliding his gaze over to Celeste, hands stuffed casually in his pockets, "any tug or pull?"

A pause.

"No," Celeste shook her head, a shiver racing up her spine as she felt the gaze of the ravens on her, watching, her entire being shuddering at the wrongness of this place, "all I feel is awful and an immense sense that this is a terrible idea."

"Try anyway." Gandriel signaled towards the tomb door before them, quirking a brow at her.

She cut him a look. So help her if this moron got her killed on this island—

It was like a drum, suddenly brought to life, throbbing when it sensed her. She nearly collapsed when she felt the first vibration rip through her, shaking her very core, calling to her, demanding her attention.

Void, this thing was beyond even darkness, it was the feeling of emptiness of a pit that none could escape-

 _I've been looking for you,_ a feminine voice cooed, it's wispy tone dancing, _come see child, come see what awaits._

Celeste felt her eyes widen, palms suddenly coated in icey sweat as she glanced towards Gandriel who's tan skin had blanched, his lips pulled tight as he looked at the tomb as though it might eat him.

She gave him a look, asking if he had heard the voice.

He gave her a small nod.

 _Why do you hesitate?_

Celeste felt like she was going to vomit.

She felt herself take one step, then another, directed by an invisible force tugging her forward. Somehow she could not find the will to stop it, the feminine presence pulling her forward as though by some invisible strings.

 _I will tell you want to do_ , it purred, that empty feeling caressing Celeste's energy, _you need only let me lead._

Gandriel stood behind her, those sharp cat like eyes watching, assessing.

As if reciting an old rite, something she'd done a million times, she circled the monolith once clockwise, her boot clad toes tapping almost soundlessly against the stone base as the voice whispered in the night-

 _Once for the guardians who lie in wait,  
_ _Copper corpses twined in armor of might,_

She felt herself stop, the world around her silent and slow, a fog overcoming her senses, she turned and circled again counterclockwise,

 _Twice for the daughter, come too late,_  
 _Inky darkness seeping, beckoning the death of light,_

She stopped again, the temperature having dropped suddenly that her breath fogged in front of her, an icy presence holding her palm as it turned her clockwise once more,

 _Thrice for the mother who lost her mate,_  
 _On your knees, may death ascertain your rite._

Stepping forward Celeste laid her flat palms across the monolith, the strange circular markings beckoning her. As her skin made contact with the stone the marks flared to life beneath her hands, turquoise light thrumming. Releasing a breath through her nose she tried to focus on it, whatever it was, calling out to it tentatively with her energy.

Much to Celeste's surprise and chagrin, it responded back, viciously.

Celeste grunted in pain as it lashed out against her energy, barely having the time throw a shield up around her mind, a skill she'd nearly forgotten how to use, as it barreled straight for it, intent on tearing through her. It practically chuckled in delight at her touch, wrapping its energy viciously around her, pinning her.

 _Thank you._

Her eyes flew open, she couldn't move. Her hands were bound to the stone.

A low rumbling and creaking cried out in the night, sending the seven ravens cawing and flying in various directions, terror coating their tones as the stone slab behind the black stone opened, a stale wind rushing out of the tomb to meet them.

As the door stopped it's motion the stone let go, Celeste's hands sliding free from the prison that held her. That dark voice still called out to her in delight, an ancient wickedness cooing at her in immense gratitude.

Whatever she had just done, she was not supposed to have. Never in a million years was that to have been opened.

Her heart thundered in her chest, her limbs quaking, the force having just drawn on her power, her very life force to break whatever seal had held that tomb shut.

The presence shifted, crawling back into the recesses of the open tomb, an eerie hum echoing out of it's depths.

Celeste sunk to her knees.

Light footsteps approached behind her, the lazy trot of a lion who had successfully captured it's prey. Celeste glanced up to that golden face, her shoulders still quivering.

"Well done," Gandriel complimented, though a prominent waver was in his voice. He patted gently Celeste on the shoulder before offering her a gloved hand, "Let's go."


	14. Into the Depths-Part II

She felt a tug leading her down into the depths of the tomb, the faelight flickering in Gandriel's hand as he followed close behind, the steps leading them deep into the earth. The stagnant air wrapped around them like a feather-light cloth, the scent of decay and dust prominent in the air.

Celeste shuddered as she descended the steps one by one, the remnants of that presence still clinging to her very being, smearing it in inky blackness.

"What exactly," Celeste drew, a shiver dancing down her spine as she watched each step she took into the depths, her breath fogging in front of her, "are we looking for here?"

"I told you," Gandriel replied, his color having fully returned to his face, eyes scanning the darkness around them, "it's a powerful item that no one has seen in millennia."

"That doesn't answer the question," Celeste grumbled, another shiver racing up her spine as the tug from the depths grew stronger, "I'd like to know exactly what I'm risking myself for here." And to know exactly what I just unleashed, she added as an afterthought, though a bit limply.

"You'll see soon enough."

She suppressed a snarl, biting her lip to keep from snapping at the male. His inability to provide any information left Celeste with a sense of uneasiness, a sense that she was being lead blindly in the dark. He knows what he's doing, she tried to assure herself, though it felt weaker than she would have liked, Get through this then you can go and save Anelisse.

After what had felt like an eternal descent Celeste finally stepped off the last stair and into a vaulted catacomb, the arched ceiling reaching so high it was nearly undiscernible in the darkness. Rows and rows of tombs lay in parallel to one another, their golden surfaces polished and adorned with intricate patterns and jewels.

A resting place for something very important indeed.

"What in the Mother's name is this place?" Celeste breathed, taking in the intricate stone carvings that littered the walls, the vibrant paint having been preserved by either some luck or charm, depicting figures clothed in heavy armor fighting against what appeared to be non-corporal figures, figures that looked like shadow brought to life.

It set off an alarm in Celeste's mind, a voice telling her to remember, to listen.

"The dumping grounds for the remains of the dead," Gandriel replied cracking his neck before moving past Celeste between the sarcophagi, the faelight bouncing with each step he took and flickering off the polished gold of the caskets, "and a gold mine for the living."

Celeste sent him a disbelieving look, watching as he ran his hand over each of the golden sarcophagi, assessing.

He was going to sack the tomb.

"You can't be serious," She hissed, trotting after the casually strolling fae male, eyeballing the odds and ends of treasure and potential fortune around him, "I thought we were here for something specific. Messing with the graves of the dead is only going to bring us trouble." And we're in enough trouble as it is, she thought sourly.

Following behind Gandriel's casual, lazy steps she nimbly avoided brushing against any of the tombs, intent on avoiding getting cursed or disturbing something she intended to leave that honor to Gandriel. Squinting she tried to discern the words behind the ancient writings marking each surface. Likely names and titles, she mused to herself, dodging around a particularly large sarcophagus.

The room was covered in those strange circular markings that had flared to life beneath her palms on that monolith, each flowing seamlessly into the other as they stretched from floor to ceiling and across each of the caskets. Looking around her in awe she trailed slowly after Gandriel, her eyes roaming slowly over the carvings, memorizing.

The inky blackness that had accompanied that voice had nearly vanished, as though whisked away on a silent wind, no longer present in the tomb.

And, therefore, no longer leading.

"Relax," Gandriel rumbled after a few moments of looking about, glancing over his shoulder at Celeste, the faelight casting his face in pale shadows, "I'm not going to steal from the dead," he ran his hand over one of the golden lined sarcophagi, fingers settling on a large sapphire, nearly the size of a chickens egg, "though it's a waste of gold if you ask me. What use do the dead have for it anyway?"

She rolled her eyes; his foolishness knew no bounds.

"If you have time to roll your eyes," Gandriel replied dryly, his head cocked to the side as he watched her with that predatory stare, "then you have time to be looking."

"As you wish," she replied sarcastically, dipping her head in a curtsey, "lest we delay getting ourselves and our descendants cursed any longer."

He snorted, dismissing her and turn back to continue his wandering.

Useless prick.

She began searching through the rows and rows of tombs, beckoning for the tug to lead her to whatever Gandriel was looking for.

Nothing stood out.

She sighed, rubbing her face in exasperation before closing her eyes. Diving deep into that unused well she focused, tentatively throwing her energy out like a net, searching.

A sudden cold and brisk wind whipped through the catacomb sending Celeste's skirt and hair billowing. She let out a surprised gasp as she watched the wind blow the dust deep into the temple, a faelight flaring to life at the end of the row of tombs, casting the room in an eerie blue glow.

It had answered.

"That's totally normal," Gandriel shrilled, his hand wrapped so tightly around the faelight he was holding he nearly squished it, "Completely expected." He looked back at Celeste, something like fear dancing in his eyes, "The item is there."

His scent of terror was nearly suffocating.

Why had she followed him?

She tilted her head towards the now illuminated slab, indicating for him to lead the way. She watched as he pushed his shoulders back and began the trek through the array of sarcophagi, the gold glittering unnervingly as they moved.

Gandriel cleared the last of the distance to the slab illuminated by the faelight, nearly skittering across the floor as Celeste trailed closely behind as she glanced to and fro, watching. They both stopped in front of the stone bench, small in size compared to the tombs lying in front of it, its surface draped in what had once been a rich velvet cloth. On it lay an unremarkable metal object.

"That's it?" Gandriel said almost in disbelief, blinking at the object before him.

On the pewter slab in the center of the worn red cloth lay a slender curve of blackened metal, bent into a shallow crescent, with the ends folded over themselves. It was large, almost the size of a shortbow, but thin, barely the diameter of a coin.

"This is it?" Gandriel snorted, picking up the piece and turning it over in his hands. Relief flooded Celeste, whatever this item was it wasn't the source of that dreaded feeling of death that had permeated the tomb upon its opening. "I went to all this trouble for a sliver of metal?" He smacked it against his hand, it wobbled. "This isn't even good iron! What a waste."

"What was it supposed to be?" Celeste inquired, the hair on her neck prickling suddenly as she looked at the thin metal crescent; it was less than remarkable, something that appeared hastily crafted at best. It was an entirely unremarkable dull black and looked like something a blacksmith would use as scrap to melt and reforge.

Some mysterious item indeed.

"I don't know, but most certainly not this." Gandriel shook the metal, something like irritation overcoming his face, his lips pulling back from his teeth as he rattled the object in frustration, "That blasted map lied to me! How is this suppose to help me get out of that blood pact?"

"What do you mean you 'don't know'" Celeste replied, cutting a sharp look up at Gandriel, her violet eyes locking onto his sharp features, a boiling irritation bubbling beneath the surface of her skin, "…You had no idea what we were looking for in the first place, did you?"

Gandriel had enough sense to look almost sheepish at the question.

"Did you?" Celeste insisted, a growl building in her chest. Whatever Gandriel was looking for, he had had absolutely no idea what it even was, and Celeste was now inclined to think he had no idea what he was doing at all.

Dread tore through her as she looked at the piece of metal hanging limply in his hands. Whatever they had risked awakening by coming in here had been all over some item that the foolish prick didn't even know how to identify.

She reached for the metal in his hand, intent on shoving it down his throat.

"Give me that," she hissed, ripping the metal away from Gandriel's hand earning a grunt of annoyance as she pulled it away, "I'm going to wrap this so tightly around your neck you'll suffocate-"

"Hey! Don't go destroying ancient pieces of junk, I can still sell that-" Gandriel yelped, grabbing ahold of the metal and pulling against Celeste's grip on it. They yanked the piece of metal between them for several moments before Celeste finally pried it away from him.

The rustling of cloth echoed throughout the tomb, freezing the two to the spot.

The hair on Celeste's neck prickled higher this time, a chill racing down her arm.

Gandriel stepped back, goosebumps beginning to raise on his arms as he looked around him, searching for the source of that sound.

"What was that-?"

A skeletal hand punched up out of the ground, its spindly fingers grabbing Gandriel's leg.

He let out a shriek reminiscent of a screaming hare.

Too startled to think and acting purely on instinct, Celeste kicked out at the hand, smashing the bones to dust and freeing Gandriel's leg, the metal still gripped tightly in her hands. She frantically shoved it back into Gandriel's arms.

He flinched, fumbled with it, and shoved it back at her.

Celeste dodged, forcing him to keep the object as she turned her back to face the hundreds of rows of coffins that lay before her. All of which were vibrating.

"This may have been a bad idea." Gandriel muttered, his face gaunt, peering down in horror at the curve of metal gripped tightly in his palms, appearing as though he half expected it to turn into a snake and strike him.

Celeste swallowed a scream as hands and feet burst forth from all of the coffins, the ancient bones glistening like copper in the faint fae light bathing the room. In horror she watched as wights freed themselves from their bound prisons, the catacombs crumbling around them.

The faelight that had illuminated the pewter slab sputtered and the catacomb was plunged into utter darkness.

The first wight screamed, followed by a cascade of the others, their bones clanking as they rose from their graves.

Most definitely something that wasn't supposed to have been awoken.

Without thought Celeste grabbed Gandriel's wrist and bolted blindly through the darkness, back down the rows of tombs, hoping and praying to whatever deity would listen that they would not trip. Light suddenly flared to life, and Gandriel's revived faelight illuminated the path towards the stairs.

And illuminated all of the empty eyes of the wights, their attention entirely focused on the light and on the pair of living, breathing beings holding it. As if in unison the wights began scrambling from their beds and hurtled towards the fleeing pair, their focus entirely on them.

She'd kill Gandriel herself if they survived this.

Celeste artfully dodged around the skeletons, trying to not tangle herself in her dress as she jumped from side to side, avoiding the swiping of fae blades that had also been pulled free from the tombs by what she assumed were their previous wielders if their excellent aim was any indication.

Dodging out of the way of one well placed swipe, Celeste felt her legs entangle in her dress and toppled forward into the arms of a newly risen wight, a curved rapier hanging limply in its hands and a golden chain looped about its neck.

The skeleton grabbed Celeste by the front of her dress and lifted her skywards with uncanny strength, its empty eyes staring up as it angled its sword toward Celeste's stomach, its prize in hand as it unleashed a bloodcurdling scream of victory.

Terror tore through her veins as she flailed, trying to knock the creature's grip but to no avail. Noting the chain about its neck she grasped for it, the cool metal digging into her palm, and braced her feet against its hollow chest. She yanked, pulling the necklace free, but causing no harm to the wight.

She sucked in breath of undiluted fear when a sword suddenly cleaved between the skull of the wight and its vertebrae, tearing its head from its body with a sickening snap.

The ensuing scream sent waves of adrenaline coursing through her.

Gandriel caught her easily as he dropped the blade he'd used to decapitate the wight and tucked himself around her so they went rolling out of the way of flailing bones.

That voice, the one that always lingered, screamed.

RUN.

They both hit the base of the stairs with a resounding thud, Celeste's hands still wrapped around the golden chain. Celeste felt Gandriel's hands dig into the back of her dress, forcing her upright and in front of him as he shoved her up the stairs.

"MOVE!" He bellowed, pushing her ahead of him, his voice echoing loudly throughout the catacomb, above the scratching of the wights freeing themselves, the bellowing of damned souls brought to life and once again freed from the clutches of death.

Not wasting a second Celeste bolted up the stairs, her boots thudding against the steps as she took them two at a time, racing towards the surface and away from the bloodcurdling screams of the wights in the tomb below following after, their prey having narrowly escaped. Gandriel was at her heels.

They tore through the entrance of the tomb and raced across the entrance, feet skidding as they bounded around the black monolith and towards the path back to the boat. Celeste skid to a halt and threw an arm out to stop Gandriel.

From the mists wights began emerging, their hollowed eye holes locked on them as they encroached, hundreds upon hundreds rising as far as the eye could see. The moon above had dimmed nearly to darkness and Celeste felt the ground beneath her grow soft.

She glanced down, the grass darkening before her eyes. The smell of gore and decay assaulted her nose suddenly, stinging her nostrils. Blood was seeping up from the ground.

They were going to die here, Celeste was certain as she glanced around looking for any weapon, any line of defense—"Gandriel," she barked, glancing over her shoulder towards the male, "your storm magi-"

The spot where the male had been moments before was empty.

"Gandriel?" She whipped her head around frantically, before a glimmer of gold in the distance caught her eye. "GANDRIEL!"

He was racing down the path, dodging wights and flying over fallen stones. The spineless bastard had left her.

"You son of a bitch!" Growling in frustration Celeste turned towards the path and began racing behind the fleeing fae male, her teeth gritted, "So help me if I get my hands on you-"

Racing down the hill Celeste heard the clamoring of wights behind her giving chase, the rattling of their bones urging her to race faster. She watched as Gandriel half slid, half fell down the grassy bank and onto the beach, blood-soaked gravel and sand flying beneath his feet as he pounded towards the boat.

If he left her here . . . She shook her head driving the thoughts away, sucking in lungfuls of oxygen as she ran as fast as legs could carry her down the hillslope, he couldn't sail, couldn't leave this island without her.

And she'd haunt him for eternity if he did.

The wights were fast on her heels as she skidded down the slick slope towards the beach, blood splashing her boots and legs. Giving herself a wide birth, she launched herself over the array of boulders at the base of the bank and jumped down onto the beach, her knees cracking painfully as she landed, nearly colliding with Gandriel.

"What took you so long?!" Gandriel cried towards her, green tendrils of magic pushing the wights rising from the sea back, uncomfortably close to their one lifeline off the island.

"What took me so long?!" Celeste hissed, diving towards a branch of driftwood on the beach and lifting it to wield as a weapon, "You left me!"

"Left you? We weren't going to survive if we stayed there!" Thick tendrils of green energy burst forth from his hand, felling wights left and right. However where one fell two more rose in its place.

"And we stand a better chance of surviving here?" Celeste snarled back, lifting her less than adequate weapon in a defensive stance as she stood back to back with Gandriel, her heart thundering in her chest and raven locks clinging to her sweat drenched face.

If they could just fight their way to the boat-

A crack sounded and Celeste felt her stomach drop as she watched the wights descend on the dinghy, snapping its mast in two and shattering the hull.

"It's over," Gandriel breathed, his voice cracking as he stumbled back, watching as the wights surrounded them from all sides, their prey cornered, "we can't win this one."

Without warning he turned and shoved the piece of metal into Celeste's arms. Desperation flared through her at the thought of dying on a deserted cursed island with the king of fools as he wrapped his arms tightly around her.

"Are you seriously giving up just like that?" Celeste seethed, tears of frustration streaming down her face as she tried to pull free from Gandriel's grip, to try and at least protect them, to go down fighting—

A wall of green energy tore free and surrounded them, blocking the wights, buying them time, even if only for a few moments.

"Well if I'm going to die at least I'll get to die with a pretty woman in my arms," he said with a weak attempt at a smirk. Celeste couldn't even bring herself to bark her protest as she thought of Anelisse abandoned in Vanica with Lukas Pennington, with no one coming to save her.

She tried to swallow the fear of her impending doom when suddenly the world around her shifted and she felt the air around them vacate as they plummeted into shadow.

Several terrifying moments passed suspended in airless darkness before they went tumbling to the floor of a home, a loud crash sounding as they demolished a table on their way down.

Celeste lay shell shocked for a moment, the breath having escaped her, as she stared up at the wooden ceiling of a small apartment, the sound of crickets chirping outside.

Gandriel had winnowed them out.


	15. The Aftermath

Celeste lay on her back for several long moments that felt like an eternity as she stared up at the warm wooden ceiling, a cool breeze dancing gently through the balmy room. Her body still quaked as her senses reoriented themselves from impending doom to casual laziness, the soft carpet beneath her an oddity amidst the reel of emotions. Nearby the song of crickets hummed away loudly.

They'd been minutes, moments away from a harsh and painful death at the hands of the walking dead, not a hope in sight, their very heartbeats and breaths numbered.

Then he'd winnowed them out.

WINNOWED.

Something he'd somehow managed to neglect to mention he could do to her during any of the frantic terror-soaked moments that had assaulted them as they'd raced out of that damned tomb with death at their heels. Something that he had failed to remember as wights had come after them in hoards, rising from the depths of the earth eager to sink their ancient blades into living flesh.

Celeste could smell the decay and rot on her, feel it seeping into her once new and lovely leather boots, the sweat still tracing down her face and body. Her senses were finally calming, her focus returning as her heart slowed from its gallop.

He had winnowed.

An eerie silence filtered through Celeste's mind, a soothing, calm, sharp clarity racing through her.

"OH by the Mother," she heard Gandriel mutter, his labored, panicked breathing the only sound bouncing off the walls of the small room. She heard him lift himself, hissing from where he'd collided none too gently with that poor unsuspecting table, "Thank the Cauldron and the stars-"

She glanced towards him. His sweat-soaked hair hung limply, plastered to his cheeks and neck as he lay on his stomach on top of the broken table, his arms holding him up as a quaking tremor raced down his body.

She sat up.

"Gandriel," she began quietly, her voice ice as the energy in the room pulled taut, tension strumming through the space like a bowstring pulled tight, silencing the crickets outside. His attention snapped to her immediately. "When did you intend to mention you could winnow."

He looked up at her, eyes wide, the arrogant mask absent, "Winnow?" His eyebrows knotted at the center of his forehead. "What in the hell is winnowing? How did you pop us back here?" He glanced around, his face softening at what Celeste assumed was a familiar environment, ". . . And to my apartment no less."

Celeste couldn't winnow, had never been able to.

Only the strongest fae could winnow. So very few were gifted with the ability, Celeste recalled, as a memory tinkering at the back of her mind of a blue-eyed boy who could do the same came to life.

"Gandriel," she tried again, her voice lingering on the last syllable as she fixed him with a pinning stare, her nostrils flaring, "Why didn't you tell me you could winnow?"

"I didn't!" he hissed at her, "You must have done it, I can't do that!" He locked gazes with her flat, penetrating stare, eyes widening slightly. ". . . Can I?"

He swallowed nervously, not breaking eye contact for even a moment and Celeste saw, for once, that his face hid nothing. He truly did not realize that he'd sent them flying through the world with nothing but a thought.

A sudden look of horror flashed across his face as he dropped his head, hair brushing against the carpet, fists knotting beneath him.

"Mamá . . ." Gandriel muttered, his voice slipping into a lilting accent Celeste was not familar with, as he began murmuring, more to himself than her, in a foreign language. The syllables rolled off his tongue in smooth waves, some internal conflict prominent on his face.

The male shook his head before he fixed his attention back on Celeste, "I've never even heard of winnowing, much less have I ever done it. But if I did that . . ." He rolled over onto his back, his large palms covering his face, "Oh Mother above."

The idiot literally had no idea that he could winnow, it had been pure chance, pure luck driven by his terror that had saved them.

Something inside Celeste snapped.

She rose swiftly and silently onto her feet before stalking towards Gandriel, her hands hanging loosely at her sides. Before he had the chance to scramble away Celeste knotted her hands in the back of his shirt, and with a strength surprising of even a fae, threw him from the floor into the couch across the room.

He landed with a less than impressive thud, toppling over backwards and taking the couch with him.

"You," she seethed, the temperature in the room plummeting as she stalked towards him, her boots squishing uncomfortably beneath her feet as blood seeped out onto the cream carpet, a reminder of what they had just survived. "What in the living fuck were you thinking?" she hissed, beginning to slowly circle around the toppled piece of furniture, her focus locked on his scrambling form. "Do you have any idea what you just risked to retrieve an item you didn't even know how to identify?"

The thought of that inky black presence danced hauntingly through Celeste's mind, the clamoring and clinking of the wights movements a song that it moved to.

What had they done?

"Celeste," Gandriel reasoned, wisely putting the couch between himself and said female as he staggered to his feet, his hands raised in front of him as though calming a wild animal, "You have to understand I didn't know THAT was going to happen-"

"And what did you think was going to happen?" Celeste shot back, her hair sticking uncomfortably to her sweat-soaked dress, the useless frilly thing that nearly cost her life. "That we'd just waltz in there, magically find whatever the hell that piece of metal was and stroll out? How did you even find that place?"

The place reminded her of the horror tales that were told as ghost stories to get her into bed when she was a small child alongside Anelisse. The same stories that had her crawling under layers and layers of blankets late in the night as she watched the window in the cottage, contemplating when the real demons would come crawling out of the shadows to take her once again.

She suppressed a violent shudder.

"It was on a map," Gandriel replied, watching her carefully, "a map designed specifically to locate objects that the user needs most." He rummaged through his back pocket, keeping on eye on her as though he half expected her to tear out his throat, and withdrew a small folded piece of paper, clearly charmed to keep it protected. "It led me to that island."

"What could you have possibly needed from there?" Celeste snarled, throwing her arms out in frustration, "Death? I could have given that to you easily enough without having to risk my own hide!"

"I needed something to break a bargain I made," he replied coolly, unfolding the map gently, its surface plain except for the faint outline of the continents and islands. "The map doesn't specify the object, just the place."

"And you needed my help why?" she growled, beginning to circle around the couch towards the fool.

"Like I said before," Gandriel cautiously kept pace with her circling, keeping the distance between them with one hand still out as though attempting to placate a furious wildcat, "it was rumored you could track it, so I figured why not. I hopped that boat intending to jump ship and sail to the island myself. You were . . . unexpected, but Cauldron-sent nonetheless."

Lies, she could taste them.

"You're lying," she hissed, moving closer towards him, he took a pace backward in time with hers to keep the distance, "You're not telling the whole truth."

Gandriel's face remained passive but his eyes finally flicked away from hers for a moment. He let out a breath. "There's more but now's not the time for it." His gaze trailed down to her hands, still quaking and trembling, and his brow knotted at the center. "You need rest." A snarl. "We bothneed rest, and food; you look like you're about to keel over."

"Thanks to no help from you," Celeste spat, recalling his taunting as Gandriel had 'guarded' her on the boat back from Vanica, "You're not exactly making me want to spill your blood any less."

Gandriel took one more step back toward the door. "Do you really think you could retrieve your sister in this condition?" Celeste balked at the implication, even as a sliver of truth accompanied the statement. She was in no condition to travel at this point, to gut Lukas and let him bleed - "Exactly." She dropped her gaze, her face having confirmed what Gandriel had already expected. "We'll rest, then we'll get your sister."

"You swear it?" she demanded, a shiver racing up her spine. Cauldron, just how long had it been since she'd slept adequately?

He quirked a brow.

She hissed.

"Yes! Yes," Gandriel retorted loudly, his mossy golden gaze locking with her own violet as he stared down at her, thick lips pressed into a near pout, "I promise we'll get your sister back."

Something in Celeste's nerves shattered as she felt herself loosen, shadows of memories dancing at the edge of her mind, and exhaustion finally caved in on her like stone. She suddenly felt very lightheaded and peaky, like she needed to sit. She wavered.

"I'm . . . tired," she told Gandriel, a heaviness settling over her as she reached out a wobbling hand to steady herself against the couch, the lightheadedness growing. Her eyes were still sharp as she glared at Gandriel however. "I'll deal with . . . this, YOU later."

The male tried to not look too relieved.

"I'll go get food," Gandriel replied, looking more than happy to be away from Celeste. Good, she thought, it was best he was afraid of her. "You should rest." He nodded over a shoulder towards a door situated in the back of the large apartment, "There's a bath in there, feel free to use any of the soaps, they're there for my . . . nightly companions," Celeste snorted in response as that insufferable smirk resurfaced. "I'll return shortly."

"At this hour?" Celeste had slumped to the floor, her head leaning against the toppled couch, which she noted was a lovely shade of crimson. "Where are we anyway?" She took a moment to glance around at her surroundings. Gandriel's apartment was notably larger than the small cottage she'd been raised in and filled with items far more expensive that she could have ever have dreamed of possessing on Vanica.

"Marchedor," Gandriel replied as he finally, grudgingly, turned his back on her to pull off his blood-soaked boots, that trilling accent slipping through on the way he rolled his r's. "The trade Capital between the Northern Fae Countries and the Mortal Lands. There's always something open in the square."

Celeste tried to ignore the tightening of her stomach, the faint nausea that always accompanied such a violent hunger. Gandriel eyed her with what might have even been concern as he tugged on a fresh set of shoes.

"Fine," Celeste didn't even bother arguing, the exhaustion already seeping into her violently as her eyes fluttered, heavy with sleep. "Just be quick about it, I need to get back to Anelisse."

"Of course," Gandriel stood and slicked his hair back, nearly brown now from the sweat and grime, "I'll be back shortly."

Celeste didn't even bother watching as she heard him rustle around in a drawer, no doubt looking for money to pay for whatever food he intended to buy. She barely registered him leaving, the door closing behind him quietly as he made off into the night.

Sleep, the sweet reprieve that she so desperately needed was so close.

The smell of death was still on her.

She groaned and rubbed at her aching eyes.

A bath, then sleep, then saving Anelisse. She could kill Gandriel after that. Maim the lying sack of skin and leave him out for the buzzards to pick at.

She hauled herself upright.

* * *

"Unbelievable," Celeste nearly whispered as she took in the expansive bathing room. It was nearly the size of the living area with a deep stone pool, hot water already steaming, whatever magic here keeping the pool full and hot. Around the pool sat a variety of candles already lit, casting the room in a golden sheen.

The prick was as flowery and over the top as he was stupid.

Some nightly company indeed.

Celeste hadn't seen a tub like that in . . . years. It had always been buckets of water in Vanica, warmed over the fire and then used to scrub herself with a hole-filled old rag that, no matter how many times she washed it, never seemed to be completely clean.

This, in comparison . . . this was heaven.

She loosened the ties of the dress about her waist and pulled the sticky fabric from her skin with a wet squelch, the delicate fibers grimy beneath her fingers. She glanced down at the article, its once beautiful plum hue now nearly the color of dirt.

A pang of guilt strummed through her as she thought of the work Pennelope had put into it, as she thought of Anelisse alone, forced to endure Lukas-

She tossed the dress to the floor, a nearly black clump on the golden tiles.

She felt so heavy, so very heavy.

Celeste gazed up at the high shelves lined with every soap imaginable, the supplies Gandriel's various lovers used.

She snorted at the idea as she stepped up and began rummaging through the various containers, all labeled in lovely feminine script.

Orange-lemon, gardenia, sandalwood, patchouli, rose, rose, rose . . . and another container of rose. Celeste wrinkled her nose, the strong smell of the flower escaping the bottle.

Oh he was sumptuous indeed.

A bit more searching produced a small bottle of milky liquid and written across its surface . . . jasmine. She plucked the bottle from the shelf, ignoring the tinkering bells of memories at the back of her mind as she ascended the few low steps into the bath.

She nearly moaned in delight as her toes tested the warm water, heat seeping into her frozen body. She quickly lowered herself into the tub, savoring the water as it thawed her icy limbs.

If nothing else had come of this at least she'd been able to get a bath.

Scrubbing at her face, she worked the grime loose, the flecks of blood and earth floating away in the tub. Celeste tried not to let her mind wander, her focus solely on cleaning beneath her shattered nails, on detangling her matted hair.

She closed her eyes, an image of seeping blood suddenly filling her vision.

Her eyes flew open, and she shuddered as the image of Anidre's prone form filled her mind. If she'd only been loose she would have been able to save her—

She shut down the thoughts with a breath and proceeded to dunk herself beneath the water, tuning out her mind and everything around her.

Later, she could deal with it later.

* * *

It was almost unfortunate the wights hadn't killed him, Gandriel pondered as he strode through the market, because Celeste's intent was nothing short of malicious. He was near certain she'd rip his throat from him if given the chance. Though if the rising wights in the tomb had been any indication she'd have no issues raising him from the dead to kill him again and again either.

The old scrying glass hadn't been wrong after all, and it sent Gandriel's senses ablaze as he thought of those skeletons rising from the ground. She was beyond dangerous, and in his case, hopefully, beyond useful.

He hated the paranormal. Absolutely abhorred it.

But the ability to bring back the dead . . . it could work.

Gandriel passed a few copper pieces over to the stall's owner, paying for the meat pies he'd chosen, before nodding his head and trekking back down the cobblestone road towards his Hightown apartment.

The fact they hadn't died was a miracle, an absolute miracle.

The remnants of the blinding terror that had seized him still lingered, still clung to the edges of his mind, taunting him as walked through the quiet city streets. The golden faelights illuminated the pressed stone beneath his feet in the twilight as fae and humans alike strolled to and fro in the emptying streets.

And the . . . winnowing as Celeste had called it, that had been unexpected too. He still wasn't certain that had originated from him, but his mother had warned him many years ago-

He banished the thought. It had to have been Celeste, he was certain.

Ascending the stairs to his apartment Gandriel pushed the door open and walked into the sight of Celeste curled up on the now-upright couch, her damp raven locks tousled around her as she lay sound asleep in his favorite shirt.

He scowled at the soaked edges of the garment he'd been so looking forward to wearing tonight. Well, she'd certainly made herself at home.

At least she hadn't left.

Setting the food down on the side table, Gandriel made to move towards Celeste, intending to wake her to eat. Her bony frame and hollow cheeks hadn't escaped him in their time together and feeding her was the least he could do after the fiasco he'd just made her endure for his benefit. He crept quietly over to her slender frame and was considering what method of awakening was least likely to get him punched when his eyes snagged on a red mark on her back peeked out from where the sleeve of his oversized sleep shirt had slid down over her narrow shoulder.

His eyes widened as he looked more closely at that mark.

Centered in the middle of her pale shoulder was a jagged, atrocious blotch of dense scar tissue that puckered at the edges - a vicious reminder of a brutal wound. Only the top of it peeked out above the shirt and Gandriel instinctively stepped forward, narrowing his eyes on the scar, wondering just what had happened to this strange fae woman to have obtained such a mark.

He reached forward a tentative hand, just to see how far down the scar stretched-

Celeste rolled over and sharp violet eyes narrowed up at him.

He jumped and stood abruptly, tucking his hands guiltily behind his back.

"I was going to . . . um . . . wake you." He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "There's, uhh, food - meat pies," he finished weakly, swallowing a bit nervously as he made a vague gesture toward the table.

The violet eyes blinked twice, softening them and clearing their fog, before she nodded slowly and sat upright, her pale legs long and bare beneath his sleep shirt. He averted his gaze, a blush inadvertently spreading across his cheeks at the sight of so much skin.

Smooth, Gandriel, he chastised himself, Way to go.

Celeste tentatively sniffed the air before letting out a small noise of yearning and attempted to stand, her thin legs wobbling beneath her.

"Here, sit." Gandriel waved her back to the couch and walked to retrieve the meat pies, feeling her incredulous glare in the back of his head, grimacing as the instinctual male instinct to protect began to float to the surface.

What exactly was with this woman?

Snatching up the pies he quickly handed one over to her, then sighed as he remembered the splintered table. He plopped down on the poor, bloodstained carpet instead and unwrapped his own, sinking his teeth joyfully into the buttery crust. He savored the peppered spice of the lamb, and the fact he was still around to enjoy it, before shifting his gaze to Celeste.

His pie halfway to his mouth, Gandriel watched in amazement as the small female devoured hers in moments; not a crumb dropped. He quirked a brow in amusement as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and licked her fingers, color beginning to bloom in her cheeks again.

She lazily handed the cloth wrapping back to him and flopped back down on the couch, a contented sigh slipping past her lips, completely ignorant of the fact that Gandriel had an optimal view of her . . . finer assets.

He needed to get her a blanket, for both his sake and her own.

"Tomorrow." Celeste mumbled as she rolled towards him, her arms tucked in front of her and her form suddenly seeming so much smaller than it had in the previous days. "Tomorrow we go get Anelisse, first thing." Her voice was sleep ridden and Gandriel watched as she started nodding off.

He popped the last of his meat pie into his mouth before rising, brushing the crumbs from his filthy trousers with a grimace.

He was in desperate need of a bath.

"Celeste," Gandriel prodded gently, earning a grumbling growl from the drowsy female as he opened a closet and began rummaging for a blanket, "You can have my bed, I'll sleep on the couch." Celeste yawned before snuggling further down in the couch, her face muffled by the cushions.

"No thanks," she muttered, her voice barely audible, "I'd rather not contract any illnesses from you and your 'nightly companions.'" Celeste shifted her shoulders, causing the shirt to ride up to nearly inappropriate heights. "Nice array of flowery soaps by the way." She yawned again, loudly. "I noticed there wasn't anything particularly masculine in there either. I didn't realize you liked smelling like roses, not that I'm surprised."

Gandriel bristled and threw the blanket at her face, none too gently, before stalking off to the bathing room.

She was such a bitch.


	16. Starfall

_**Authors Note: A huge shout out and thank you to CrystalShadowStar for reviews, they're an incredible help for motivating me to keep updating. =)**_

 **Feyre**

We were late, absolutely late as Rhys hurriedly flew us up to the House of Wind, the sky around us already dipping into darkness as the city lights below dimmed.

I felt the rustle of the wind through my freshly restyled hair, the original curls having been . . . mussed in Rhys and my earlier endeavors. The scant pieces of lace that my mate had bought me were hastily thrown on underneath my matching gown.

Said flimsy negligees that Rhys had slowly eased down and off of my hips, his palm encircling the tender spot at the apex of my thighs-

Heat rushed through me as I slammed down on the images.

I glanced up, shooting my mate a glare. Rhys only grinned in response, a chuckle resonating down the bond as heat stained my cheeks.

Insufferable.

We'd found ourselves . . . briefly side tracked prior to the Starfall celebration. "Briefly" equating to somewhere around three hours, I realized with a wince, if my rough calculations were to be believed.

I watched as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, Rhys's warmth seeping into me as we swept through the chilly night air.

It wasn't as though we'd miss the spirits though, I realized sadly, as the last of the Starfall spirits had disappeared thirteen years ago when Celeste's young life had been snuffed out. A fitting end I supposed since it had been rumored it'd been those very spirits and their magic that had awakened the sacred lilies that had given her to us in the first place.

I felt a familiar hollowness creep into the pit of my stomach as I thought on the fact that she would have been 23. Thirteen years without her and the wound still stung like it was new. I wondered briefly if the spirits would have still been here had she not perished.

My inner musings were interrupted as Rhys landed softly on one of the crowded balconies, the occupants moving out of the way of their High Lord and Lady as we descended onto the stone overhang. Rhys grinned down at me, the smile sending shock waves through my core and forcing my mind elsewhere as he sat me down gently, tugging at one of my loose curls.

Flirtatious ass.

I halfheartedly swatted at his hand, eliciting a warm chuckle before he gently pecked me on the cheek and turned to mosey through the crowd, no doubt looking for our second, needing to discuss matters with her regarding business on the main continent concerning the slavers who'd popped up in recent decades.

A hundred years after the war and things had improved, significantly so, but still pockets of fae and humans alike had taken to trafficking young helpless individuals. We'd deemed that it was our place to step in on behalf of Pyrthian, providing spies and hands to help in nailing down the ringleaders. We were getting closer and closer everyday to shutting down the main trade routes, slowly stitching the rift between humans and fae back together.

I shook my head, a soft smile rising to grace my lips. We were slowly leaving the world a better place than it had been before we'd come into it.

One promise I had been able to keep.

"Well, don't you look lovely this evening," a warm voice chirped to my left, and my gaze drifted over to land on warm amber eyes and green skin dusted with pale powder.

"Ressina," I greeted, smiling at my fellow painting instructor and now long-time friend, happy to have found her so quickly amongst the mulling crowd, "I'm glad to see you made it."

"Considering I had to climb up the lot of those stairs it's a miracle my outfit's in one piece at all." I smiled as I looked her over, the amber colored gossamer gown she'd chosen complimenting her pale green skin nicely, a color combination that could only have be rendered and appreciated by an artist's mind.

"Considering how pretty that dress is, I'm glad it is," I supplied with a smile, offering a hand out to my friend. "Shall we go find drinks? It seems like the party is already well underway."

"Sounds like a plan, partner." Ressina cut me a grin, eyebrows wiggling, "Should I inquire why you and your mate were late this evening or should I refrain from delving into the obvious?"

A blush heated my cheeks.

I gently shoved at her, eliciting a cackle. "You're impossible." I felt my own smile spread across my lips, tonight was indeed about celebration, it had to be so as to not lose myself in the darkness.

"More like incredibly jealous," she chirped happily, reaching her hand out to swipe up a long stem glass of sparkling rose from the refreshments table we'd just approached, "Those Illyrian males are something else, incredible really, you Archeron girls know how to pick them."

"Incredibly sensitive is more like it," I muttered with a snort, my nose now shoved into my own glass of rose as I peered over its edge across the room and its occupants, searching for familiar faces. It wasn't long before I picked out a familiar set of dark wings and a wobbling figure—

"How long has my son been drinking?" I inquired, raising an eyebrow at Cenric as he gripped the table for dear life as Cassian threw his head back cackling.

"Oh he's been at it since the party started," Ressina clicked her tongue, also raising a lovely sculpted brow to her hairline, "The lot of them have. I'm surprised he hasn't ended up on the floor yet."

I refrained from releasing an exasperated sigh. No one had warned me of the joys that motherhood would bring, the life and laughter and new-found desire to protect and cherish. The feeling of absolute devotion and meaning. Yet no one had warned me of the more . . . testing moments either.

Cenric belched loudly enough that I heard it from across the room. Cassian snorted and nearly dumped the bottle of amber liquid in his hands.

Motherhood indeed.

* * *

"Don't tell me that's all you can handle, pup," Cassian slurred, a lopsided grin on his face as he slammed down two more shot glasses full of amber liquid. Cenric had lost count at somewhere around thirteen. "I can't give you a proper apology if you can't hold the liquor."

Cenric didn't deign to reply as he felt the world wobble underneath him for the umpteenth time that night and threw his hands out on the table to keep his balance.

The bright lights from the Starfall decorations reflected blindingly around him and the humming and buzzing from the evening's guests were a whir in the back of his mind.

The black suit he'd donned earlier in the evening was now missing its jacket from where he'd slung it off somewhere around seven shots when the heat and sweat had become unbearable, he now only remained in a silk black button down and his pants, his shoes having vanished around shot eleven.

Rule number one of partying with Cassian, Cenric could practically see his father's deep violet eyes twinkling in amusement as he'd prepared to winnow from the Riverside Estate alongside his aunt and uncle, don't let him pour the liquor lest you want to puke your guts up for the following week.

Cassian had snorted and told his father that he was being dramatic and to "let the boy live a little."

That advice had fallen on deaf ears when Cassian had passed him three shots at the beginning of the party in the House of Wind to toast to his "former ass kickings and future successes."

Future successes in vomiting his guts up were more like it.

Cenric gave the amber glass, or rather glasses in his vision, a sidelong glance before snorting and swiping it up and throwing backwards down his throat, the liquid burning like hell as it trailed down his esophagus.

What harm were a few more?

"That's my boy!" Cassian cheered, his uncle's massive hand slamming into his shoulder in acknowledgement, rattling his near limp form. A few shouts of encouragement escaped the small crowd that had gathered around the small table centered between a few cushioned seats. "I knew you had a better tolerance than your siss of a father."

"If I recall correctly," a midnight voice chortled from across the table, Azriel's sharp hazel eyes narrowed on his nephew's wavering form, significantly less drunk than the other two, "you've never beaten our dear High Lord in a drinking contest."

Cassian shot Azriel a killer look accompanied by a less than polite gesture.

Azriel's lips quirked at the corners, his arms propped behind him and one ankle crossed over a knee from where he sat on the large chaise lounge, the spot next to him vacant from where Elaine had trailed off to find more food and spare herself from her nephew's inevitable alcohol poisoning.

Cenric slammed the glass on the table loudly before pushing himself upright and letting out a snort of amusement, consequences be damned. His only goal was to keep his feet beneath him for the remainder of the night, to not think about . . . her.

He barred her memory away in his mind, a delicate ivory box that he would only open when he was in the condition to remember.

"That's cause Dad's the . . . best," Cenric slurred with a hiccup, his shaggy black hair sticking to his skin, what was he doing here again?

Right . . . drinking, Starfall, not _falling_ over-

"Oh my," a rich feminine voice trilled beside him, Mor's red dress flashing in his peripherals, "You left Cassian in charge of the alcohol didn't you." A tentative sniff. "Oh yes, most definitely Cassian's work."

Those bright brown eyes landed on the shadowsinger across the table, mirth brimming over their edges. "And I see you did a wondrous job of keeping it under control." A playful teasing.

Azriel only shook his head and sipped at the amber liquid is his own glass, casting an amused glance at Cenric, "He's an adult, he can make his own choices."

"Choices that are likely to earn him an ass kicking from his mother," Cenric registered a gentle hip bump that nearly sent him tumbling as the room around him blurred. "Not that you're exactly the pinnacle of a role model." Mor cut Cassian a dry look that elicited a snort from the General, then eyeballed the liquor on the table, contemplating, resolving some inner conflict.

"Anyway, you two don't know how this is done," she quipped, pouring herself a knuckles' length before throwing it back in her throat without hesitation. "I'll drink you both under the table."

"You're on!" Cassian produced a broad grin, his teeth flashing in the light as he propped an elbow on the table reaching for the bottle of liquor—

A soft hiss sounded as Nesta approached the table, her onyx gown flowing like liquid night on the floor, the bodice tight and low cut in the back. "Why am I not surprised." She cut Cassian a look. "Though if you're so inclined to drink yourself to death I might as well stay and enjoy the show." Cenric blinked blearily as her icy eyes landed on him, looking him over. "And you, my boy, have had enough."

Cenric snorted, ignoring his hellcat of an aunt and wiggled fingers towards the bottle his uncle had just poured from. "Not your call," he chirped, his voice beyond slurred, whatever he had intended to drink away having slipped away as the alcohol fuzzed his mind.

"He's fine Nes," Cassian replied, waving a hand and shuffling off his mate, "He's the same age Az, Rhys and I were when we started having such binges."

"It's no surprise then really where all of those brain cells of yours went," Nesta responded coolly, watching as Cenric fumbled for a glass, something simmering in her eyes at the sight, "I'd prefer you not drag the rest of the world down with your idiocy."

Cassian ignored her.

Cenric dumped the shot glass.

Nesta only lifted a brow before striding over to the chaise lounge adjacent to the one Azriel occupied and sitting down, her steely gaze remaining on her nephew.

Cassian poured another round of shots and he, Cenric and Mor clinked glasses and threw the liquid back.

* * *

 **Rhysand**

I moved through the crowd offering greetings and smiles to the people of Velaris, all dressed in their finery and laughing merrily as they reached out and clasped hands with me or offered small bows.

I caught site of a familiar dark head perched in the lap of a white-haired male, laughing at something the latter must have said.

"Rhysand," Amren greeted with a feral grin, her silver eyes landing on my face as she quirked her head ever so slightly, "I see you deigned to join us."

"Feyre and I were busy attending to Night Court duties," I purred.

"I'd hardly consider fucking Night Court duties," she snorted with sidelong glance, Varian choking on his drink as the words left his lover's mouth, eyes wide. "If you're going to lie about it at least make it more believable."

I could only offer her a grin in response.

She didn't deign to reply, her attention directing to her manicured nails.

"Any news from Lucien?" I inquired, shoving my hands into my pockets. In the time since the war Lucien had been engulfed into the family, though he still claimed himself a part of Spring since his and Tamlin's reconciliation decades prior.

We'd allied with Spring those many years ago when the Queens struck out against the failing borders of Spring and the patchwork human realm south of the wall and we'd had to push back their efforts.

Our ties with Spring were still . . . tense, but civil. Trying to get Feyre and I to remain more than an hour in a room with Tamlin was a miracle but one we somehow managed at the now annual meeting of the High Lords, an alliance that had brokered peace and protection for the newly formed kingdom to the south.

Somehow Helion still had yet to make the connection of Lucien's link to him.

"None," Amren replied, sipping from a long-stemmed glass of the reddest wine, her now favored substitution to her former diet. "Apparently the leads Lucien had picked up on went silent in the Southern Seas, some storm wiped them out on a trip to some remote location."

"Less work for us then," I replied, hearing the murmuring of the crowd begin to quiet. I glanced over my shoulder to see a dark-haired female walk to the far edge of the room where the instruments for the night's musicians stood.

"It appears we're about to have a show," Amren mused, crossing one leg over the other while still in Varian's lap, "I don't believe I've seen her before." Her red-painted lips tilted downwards, eyes squinting.

Something about the woman set off bells in my mind, something familiar about the sharp features and the dark hair.

"I didn't realize you'd invited new musicians," Amren inquired, still staring intently at the female.

"I didn't." I answered, watching the woman step to the center of the room, garnering everyone's attentions. A pale gown flowed down her slender form and her long dark hair flowed over her ears and down her slim back.

"Perhaps she's one of the new apprentices in the artist's quarter," Varian supplied, wrapping a muscular forearm tighter around his lover's waist, watching the woman as she ran a hand down the length of the tall harp erected at the center.

"Maybe," I murmured, my brows knitting at the center of my forehead as I ran through the familiar faces of the local musicians who I interacted with.

"Well," Amren said with a feral grin, the animalistic side of her still prominent as ever, "I guess we'll just have to watch and see."

* * *

 **Feyre**

"If I may," A soft sweet soprano voice chimed above the crowd, directing everyone's focus to the front of the room, where a small fae woman stood.

I did not recognize her.

I looked to Ressina, confusion dancing across her jade face.

It seemed as though even she had no idea who the dark-haired female was who now stood beside a large harp, her shoulders back and dark eyes roaming across the room.

The music was not scheduled to have begun for another hour.

The woman turned towards me, her brown eyes nearly black as she bowed once.

All murmuring had stopped as silence permeated the room.

Who is she? I chimed down the bond, the question reverberating between us.

A pause. I'm not certain, Rhys responded, turning his gaze from her to me.

"A gift," she began, locking eyes with mine, her sharp features rough-hewn, before turning her attention to Rhys across the room from us watching her, "for my High Lord and Lady on this lovely evening of Starfall."

She gave a small bow before lowering herself onto the padded stool and plucking at the strings of the harp, the tune slow and haunting.

The bond had gone silent, tense, quaking.

Disbelieving whispers rushed through the crowd but went quiet as the woman began to pick out a more steady, dreary tune.

I noticed from the corner of my eye a shuffling of wings and flowing red as the rest of our family turned their attention to the unexpected performance.

Silence rippled through the crowd as music thrummed through the air, its slow melody tilting and heavy, the thrum of the strings near weeping. The lovely fae woman sat before the harp, delicate fingers plucking as she began to sing-

 _T'was down in that garden of lilies,_  
 _Where he and the little girl did meet,_  
 _Eyes of violet stone and hair a night black sheet,_  
 _Born of fortune and wealth was that dame,_  
 _Oh yes everyone did know 'er name._

Something in my stomach clenched as I heard the sorrowful voice echo across the room, an image of a bright eyed little girl flaring to life in my mind and picking at a puckered wound still healing in my heart.

 _From heaven said star was graced,_  
 _Blessed with beauty was that fair face,_  
 _Each a gift to go hand and hand,_  
 _A darling lady born to lead the land._

I wasn't sure I was breathing as I felt Ressina's hand slip into my own clammy one.

Something nagged at me, _wrong, wrong_ it repeated.

Something wasn't right.

 _As they spoke whispers of summer roses and thyme,_  
 _Off to slumber the small one did sleep,_  
 _A bane bottle in his pocket did he keep,_  
 _The small dear one she did not know_  
 _So he poisoned that dear little girl_  
 _Down under the banks below._

My heart stopped in my chest.

I barely registered Amren rising from her position in Varian's lap and striding to my mate's side, her eyes narrowing as she watched the woman with a predatory intensity.

Rhys had gone utterly still, his eyes wide and lips thin.

 _Atop her head she bore a heavy crown,_  
 _Her sire's sins which weighed it down,_  
 _In the moonlight of the night,_  
 _Her pale skin not marred by the sun,_  
 _Oh the kings brother did know what'd he'd done._

The talons of emotions that I had long since smoothed into submission reared up and slashed at the chains that held my self-control intact, the chains that kept my feelings contained, that prevented me from the full on slaughter of the people who had ripped my youngest away from me.

I felt fire begin to dance in my veins, screaming for release, the sweet caress of eternal darkness demanding to be set free.

Everyone had gone deathly still in the crowd, their faces wan and features pinched as though in pain.

I bit down on the flame and darkness, forcing myself to take control, there were too many innocents that would be caught in the crossfire-

 _Through her wings a saber drawn,_  
 _Severing the ties to right her father's wrong_  
 _Into the ocean dropped was she,_  
 _That fair little girl taken by he._

Nesta had moved up beside Cassian, her face white with rage as she locked eyes on the singing woman. Elaine was tucked into Azriel's side, her face pale as she gripped the shadowsinger's arm, tears sliding down her cheeks.

The twin to the ones streaming down my own.

 _Our king spoke the words,_  
 _That honor would set us free,_  
 _If he would murder that dear little girl_  
 _Who named Celeste was she_

I heard a sharp crunch and shot my attention to the left; Cenric had crushed the glass in his hand, the sound of his uneven breathing clear across the room.

Mor sent a worried glance towards her nephew, sobriety having already begun to take hold with the sudden change of tone.

 _My king sits, awaiting our beck and call,_  
 _The martyr to rise then take the fall,_  
 _Biding his time to rise to the sky,_  
 _For only his brother soon shall walk_  
 _To yonder scaffold high_

Her features, they were so familiar but so unlike anything I'd seen in Velaris—

She bore no wings, but the features, the carefully hidden round ears and sharp cheekbones, I should have known instantly . . .

She was Illyrian.

 _The scaffold now waits for he_

Nesta was moving across the room, a black blur of fabric as she cut through the crowd.

 _For the prince did murder that dear little girl_  
 _Who named Celeste was she._

The woman finished the last note as Nesta's hand wrapped around her arm and jerked her upright, hissing.

"Who in the hell are-" The woman spat in her face, expertly twisting out of my sister's hold and shoving her back. Cassian was at her side in an instant along with Azriel and Mor, creating a protective wall between the woman and the crowd beyond.

The woman stood before squaring her shoulders and staring our Court down.

"My name is Serys. I was the wife of one of the soldiers you let die in the great war," she growled, her dark eyes narrowing as she took in the crowd, "And I am the messenger sent to tell you our King will still rise."

King.

Something oily pooled in my stomach as my mind raced back to a dark-haired young warrior who had challenged Rhys's reign over the Illyrians years ago and had nearly walked out the victor.

A young man who had once been considered an ally, a younger brother of sorts to Cassian and Azriel.

Someone who had vanished into void after Celeste's capture.

I thought this had ended, this rebellion and turmoil that had festered so violently in the Illyrian Steppes, that had cost Cassian countless soldiers and families who had willingly died defending their backwards traditions-

"Your reign of pain and anguish will end," She pointed at Rhys, who stood frozen to the spot, his face drained entirely of color, "and it started with your daughter. THAT was the price you paid for your crown-"

I felt the flinch race down the bond as the words escaped the woman's mouth, like a slap to the face. The guilt seeping violently like a torrent of hell from Rhys.

I bared my teeth.

"You will all pay for the lives you stole," her eyes shifted over to Azriel and Cassian, lip curling in disgust, "even you bastard-born nobodies and the monstrosities you call lovers-"

Out of the corner of my eye, before the woman, Serys, could finish her tirade, I saw Cenric straighten, his cobalt eyes shimmering with rage.

I had only seen fury like that once before, in the eyes of his father.

No one could react quickly enough as a snarl tore from my son's throat and in the blink of an eye, with a wave of unchecked power that sent even my senses reeling, he blasted the wingless Illyrian female to ash.


	17. The Messenger

**_Feyre_**

 _I stood in a garden, brown vines full of razor-sharp thorns winding their way up the wrought iron fence that encircled the plot. They wrapped tightly around the posts, choking all life from the barren scene. The garden was withered and dead, as though it were in the grip of deep eternal winter._

 _At the garden's center stood a great tree, tall and rambling, its branches warped and twisted toward the matte grey sky above, bark peeling and pale._

 _I took a step forward, glancing about, the dead grass crunching beneath my bare feet. There was no sound, not even a breath of wind whistling through the tree's brittle branches._

 _Where was I?_

 _I hesitantly walked through the remains of the garden, the flatness and lack of color melding into an unending scene of desolation. The air was cold, nearly freezing, the chill sending shivers dancing up my spine. Where the Dead Go for Slumber was the name of the painting that flitted through my mind._

 _I stepped over a pile of worn rubble, the grey surface washed and brittle from the passage of time._

 _A shift beneath the rubble caught my eye and I paused as I watched a graceful serpentine shape emerge. A black snake with glittering iridescent bands of blue and silver slithered past peacefully and twined its way towards the edge of the garden._

 _I followed._

 _It swept silently across the yellowed grass, its body rippling like storm dark water. I watched as it slid down a slight incline in the garden that tapered into a flat dirt plot._

 _As I stepped down onto the cool dry soil I watched the snake slide around the back of three headstones, each grey and weathered to smoothness. No names adorned their surfaces and dead vines wrapped about the markers, all brittle and crumbling to dust._

 _Except for one green bloom wrapped around a single headstone, the middle one._

 _As I approached it, the bloom twitched and slowly flared to life, its petals a soft cream with veins of deep vibrant plum. I'd know those flowers anywhere._

 _A night lily._

 _Stepping forward, I knelt and reached a tentative hand out to brush against the flower but stopped as a small caterpillar appeared from behind the bloom. Its fuzzy body crawled to the top of the lily, happily munching on one of the few green leaves surrounding it. A honeybee buzzed close by._

 _The bee, noticing my attention, whirled around the lily thrice before shooting off to the large tree where a red cardinal sat, watching. The only signs of life in the dead garden._

 _I heard the crunching of grass and a giggle._

 _My heart froze, I knew that sound._

 _"Celeste?" I turned around quickly only to catch a glimpse of a pale foot racing around a dead bush. I stood, turning from the lily, and quickly followed after._

 _The slight giggle and soft pad of footsteps led me across the garden to a dark patch of ground that faded into darkness._

 _A cave._

 _Seven black ravens sat around the edges of the entrance, watching my approach._

 _Carefully I jumped down into the darkness, following after Celeste. My landing was near silent as I rose and took in my surroundings. It was no cave, I realized, but a long tall long corridor, laid with smooth gray stones, somehow familiar to me._

 _"Momma!" I heard her voice calling me, giggling and echoing down the dark corridor I stood in, the torches flaring to life as I started down the stone path, searching._

 _"Celeste?" I called out tentatively, my voice reverberating around me in the hollow, stale air. Where was she?_

 _"Mom-ma," She enunciated the syllables, the way she always had when she wanted my attention. Another giggle and the swishing of fabric. "Where are you?"_

 _"Celeste!" I cried out, now racing down the smooth stone path, my heart thundering my ears as I rushed towards that tinkering sound, that lovely bell-like trill I had nearly forgotten. I had to find her, had to bring her home._

 _"I'm over here momma!" Another giggle and scuffling of feet resounding down an expansive hallway to my left, the flash of onyx hair catching in the torch light._

 _"Celeste!" I cried again sliding around the corner, slamming painfully into the wall before righting myself and pursuing. "Celeste, come here, please. We need to go home-"_

 _I heard a gasp and a growl._

 _Followed by a scream that could rival a banshee._

 _My blood froze._

 _I flew down the length of the corridor, the torches dimming as I moved. Not this time, I wouldn't let them take her this time._

 _The hallway tapered into a narrow set of stairs, sending me down, down, down into the earth. I took them two at a time._

 _I skidded to a stop, my eyes and senses searching for her presence-_

 _The stairs ended in a vast empty room, a single pedestal at its center and on it-_

 _Celeste._

 _And behind her lay two great beasts, their size nearly tenfold of Celeste. One had fur in a silken shade of white, shimmering like star-flecked snow. It stretched its great paws out, arching its powerful back. The face was lupine but the eyes entirely feline, sharp and cunning as they watched me. The beast's tail gave a tentative flick._

 _The second beast was the dark mirror to the first, jet black fur rippling like liquid night, and from its great shoulders flowed dark membranous wings. One was strewn carelessly across the large pedestal, draping to the floor, while the other wrapped gently around Celeste._

 _"Momma!" She sat cross legged on the grey slab, her violet eyes wide and tear stained cheeks pink as she reached out a hand for me, "Will you come sit with me?"_

 _The air rushed from my lungs._

 _There, she was there._

 _I stepped forward, my heart thundering._

 _We could go home._

 _Like dust on the wind the great beasts dissolved into ash and shadow, a cloud flitting and forming behind Celeste. Move, the instinctual voice inside me screamed as I felt myself suddenly paralyzed, unable to produce even a twitch. You have to move._

 _A strangled cry escaped my lips._

 _The cloud continued to grow, swirling and menacing behind Celeste. She tilted her head like a tiny bird, her lips puckering in confusion. "Do you not want me, Momma?"_

 _It felt like knives piercing my heart as I fought against the paralysis, trying to speak, to move, to convey that I wanted her more than anything._

 _Her face deflated as she glanced off to the side. "Is that why you got rid of me?" She fixed those violet eyes on me, the twin to her father's._

 _Never, I wanted to scream, I would never get rid of you._

 _"Oh," she murmured at my lack of response, silver drops pooling at the edge of those large almond eyes. I screamed as I slammed against the power binding me, demanding it release me._

 _The shadow solidified more, taking on the shape of yet another beast, its sharp teeth elongating as it opened its mouth._

 _Now, now, now, that voice chanted, willing me to get loose, to get to her, You're out of time._

 _Her eyes stayed fixed on me, hand still outreached._

 _"Momma?"_

 _The shadow moved behind her still, amorphous and smoky. The hair on my arms rose._

 _Now, I had to move now. I fought against the binding, felt it begin to bend beneath my will. It snapped._

 _"Celeste-" I threw my hand out._

 _The shadow stopped and swirled once, the embodiment of void._

 _It pounced._

 _Celeste could barely scream as it pulled her into itself._

 _"NO!"_

 _Not again._

 _I barreled for the shadow, racing against time and odds to reach it, to reach Celeste-_

 _The shadow vanished._

 _The room was suddenly cold, and entirely empty. I was alone, entirely alone. I'd lost her. I felt the sob build in my chest, if I had only moved faster, acted faster-_

 _A knife was instantly pressed to my throat. I froze, releasing a ragged breath._

 _A chuckle, deep and full of hatred echoed throughout the empty chamber, the slight tapping of booted feet approaching._

 _I knew who he was before he stepped out of the shadows, his black eyes watching me with disdain._

 _"Hello, High Lady," the King of Hybern purred as he strode towards me, "you and I, we have much to discuss."_

 _Red flashed in my peripherals._

 _Fear froze me. Not her, anyone but her-_

 _Amarantha. It was Amarantha._

 _Her dark eyes glimmered as she pressed the knife into my throat, her pearl-white teeth flashing in the darkness._

 _"Hello, Mother."_

* * *

I shot up.

Sweat drenched my body as I sat there panting. I was safe, I reminded myself, safe. I ran my hands over my face, calming my ragged breathing.

It was only a dream, I realized, a hollowness creeping into my chest as I rubbed at my face once more. Amarantha wasn't there, the King of Hybern wasn't there, Celeste wasn't-

My hands dropped to the silken sheets beneath me, the pale light of the moon streaming in through the cabin's windows and casting the room in a sheer white sheen. The soft sound of the wind blowing outside rustled along the edges of the cabin.

 _Are you all right?_ I felt the question spear down the bond, and the sweet caress of night brushed against my senses. I shuddered in relief as I pushed against it, reminding myself it was still there.

 _Yes,_ I murmured down the bond to my mate, _it was just a dream._

Silence.

 _I love you,_ I felt the words dance down the bond, the underlying tones of guilt and sorrow poorly hidden.

Rhys had not taken the Starfall incident well.

The sheer amount of guilt and shame that had cascaded through the bond had been stifling and to see the look of failure on his face had nearly driven me to insanity.

He had hidden it well, and someone else likely wouldn't have noticed the slight tell-tale signs that had me roaring in agony and frustration. But to me, I knew, knew exactly how deeply Serys' words had cut, how viciously they had splayed open his emotions and ransacked them.

He should have been the one resting at the cabin while I was out trying to piece together what in the hell had happened. But Cenric-

My attention shot to the open door of my bedroom and across the hallway to the other room. A small snore echoed throughout the cabin and my body instantly went lax.

 _How is he?_ I felt Rhys inquire, those dark talons brushing gently, lovingly against my adamant walls.

 _He's fine,_ I assured my mate, rising from the bed and making my way to the hallway. _Sound asleep. I'm about to go check on him._

My son who had obliterated that woman with less than a thought, who had immediately hit his knees in sorrow in the House of Wind when the gravity of what he had done and what had happened hit him.

Mocked, the Illyrians had _mocked_ his sister's death. Had composed a gruesome tune detailing her demise and had performed it all on the night of her birthday. Serys had deserved every ounce of power that had been directed at her, that had obliterated her into dust.

No, he hadn't been sorry for killing that woman, but to lose his control like that . . .

It was what he feared most.

A sigh slipped through my lips as I cracked the door to the second bedroom in the cabin open and strolled in to find my sleeping son, his arms wrapped around a pillow and his face buried in the mattress.

I forgot sometimes, I realized as I walked up to him, the smell of smoked cedar and pine soap lingering in the air, how small he still looked when he was asleep, how young. I sat down tentatively and reached over, gently running my fingers through his freshly washed locks.

He was still so young.

Older than I was when I was thrown into peril and turmoil yes, but by fae standards . . . he was still a fledgling.

One that I would give everything and destroy everything to protect.

Woken by my touch, Cenric's dark lashes twitched and he blearily blinked cobalt eyes up at me, two shades bluer and darker than his father's.

"Go back to sleep," I told him as he rose up onto his elbows, smoothing his hair down and stroking his cheek. "Get some rest, it's okay."

He blinked his eyes once, slightly squinting them before flopping back down onto the mattress, his face pressed against my knee.

"I love you, Mom," he muttered quietly against the mattress, instantly falling back to sleep as the effects of the alcohol faded and sobriety sank back in. He'd have a hell of a hangover in the morning but he was safe and one piece. The only thing that mattered.

I sat there for a few moments before rising and slipping out of the room, silently shutting the door behind me. The tendrils of a headache danced at the back of my skull as I moved towards the kitchen. I needed tea desperately.

Things had dissolved into absolute chaos after Cenric had misted Serys, the people of Velaris near bolting their attempts to escape the House of Wind.

* * *

 _"Bitch," I heard Cassian growl as he turned to Rhys, his hazel eyes narrowed and wings flaring as he made for the balcony, "I'm heading to the Steppes."_

 _I was kneeling next to Cenric, his form quaking in my grasp as I watched the aftermath unfold, screams and thundering footsteps a fading throb in the distance as guests raced for the staircase._

 _"No, you will not," Rhys barked, sending a pointed look at his General and brother-in-arms. We all knew what Cassian would do if given the chance to head to the Steppes at this hour. Instead, Rhys sent a look at Azriel who squeezed Elaine's hand before disappearing into shadow. "I need you to help me secure the House of Wind now."_

 _Cassian opened his mouth to protest, sobriety already having returned, when Rhy's cut him off._

 _"Cassian," he nodded over his shoulder, "we have no idea who got in or what they're planning, we've got to secure here before we do anything else."_

 _Cassian looked tempted to throw something at Rhys but relented as he quickly strode towards the back hallway, tucking his wings in as he palmed a fighting knife from its hidden scabbard. Cassian was never without some steel on him, none of us were anymore._

 _"Nesta," Rhys turned his attention to my sister, his violet eyes locking with her own icy blue. She gave a short nod._

 _"I'm already on it." She began stalking out after her mate, her onyx gown dragging behind her as she jogged to catch up to the much larger warrior._

 _"Take him home," Rhys said gently as he walked over to where I had rushed to my son's side after he had hit his knees. My mate reached down and rubbed Cenric's shoulders gently. "We'll take care of this here."_

 _I was half-tempted to argue, but looking at Cenric, at the way he clung to me in desperation . . . I knew where I was needed._

 _I locked eyes with my mate. "Send word if you find anything." Rhys knelt down and wrapped his arms around both Cenric and me._

 _"I will," he assured me, kissing me gently on the cheek before rising and disappearing down the halls, following after Nesta and Cassian to scout the House of Wind, to see who or what was hiding._

 _"Mom," Cenric gasped, gripping me tightly, I could smell the salt on his face, "I-I'm sorry." The taste of ash swirled in my mouth, fire fighting its way to the surface. I sent a tendril of solid ice to meet it, soothing it, placating it for the time being._

 _"It's okay," I soothed him as I helped him stand, the smell of booze nearly overwhelming as I got him to his feet. "It's going to be okay. Let's go home."_

 _"I'm sorry," he repeated breathlessly, tears leaking from his eyes. "I just couldn't . . . they took her."_

 _"I know." I wrapped my son's muscular arm around the back of my shoulders and held him steady. Mor quickly slipped up on the other side and braced a gentle hand on her nephew's back, her brown eyes hard._

 _"I will finish this," he growled, near stumbling as we walked across the room. Ressina was still ushering guests out of the doorway and into the cool, crisp night air as Amren and Varian took the lead on protecting people and escorting them back to Velaris. "I will settle this at the rite, with all of them."_

 _"I know," I soothed him, walking to the balcony's edge, "I know."_

 _Stepping beyond the wards we winnowed._

* * *

 _Is everyone all right? I_ asked down the bond as I walked down the short hallway to the living area, contemplating.

 _Yes,_ Rhys responded, _We saw to it that everyone returned home safely._

 _What about Elaine?_ My mind shifted to the image of Azriel disappearing into shadow, no doubt headed for the Illyrian Steppes.

 _With Nuala and Cerridwen_. I felt a phantom brush of a chill wind across my face; Rhys was no doubt flying. _They're staying in the townhouse tonight._

 _Good,_ I responded, then paused, my eyes lingering on the paintings that adorned the cabin walls. _Did you find anything?_ I asked, not entirely certain I wanted the answer.

 _In the House of Wind? Nothing,_ Rhys replied. _As for Azriel…Devlon sent word from the Steppe's there's…unease but we should talk about it in person, and Cassian . . ._ There was a pause then finally, _Cassian just finished taking them down. We're burning them._

I thought back to the sign we'd found on the house when Mor and I had winnowed Cenric home.

The addition of insult to injury that the rebels had left.

* * *

 _"What in the actual burning fires of hell," Mor hissed as she took in what was pinned to front of the Riverside Estate, her hand still bracing her nephews back. I glanced up and felt Cenric stiffen at my side, his breathing turning ragged as I felt him gag._

 _"Don't look," I told him, tugging him closer into my side. Absolute disgust raced through me as I beheld what was before me._

 _Wings._

 _Across the front of the Riverside Estate a set of wings were pinned, Illyrian wings with a fine line tracing down the inner membrane. Wings from a clipped female._

 _Cenric was silent as he dug his hand into my shoulder and kept his eyes downcast._

 _They'd infiltrated our home too._

 _I took a deep breath and tore my eyes away as I turned to Mor. "We'll go to the cabin." I flinched as the scent of who the wings belonged to assaulted my nose. Serys. "The house isn't secure and none of us are in any shape to check."_

 _"Understood." Mor grabbed my hand as I tightened my hold on Cenric and we went flying through the night._

* * *

I walked out into the kitchen, the water in the pot already boiling thanks to the magic that tended to the cabin. I poured myself a cup of tea and turned towards the living area.

Deep, even breathing caught my ears and I snorted at the lump of red tucked into the worn cushions of the couch.

Mor was fast asleep.

Some watch she had been.

I resisted the urge to grin as I set down my teacup and opened up the closet, pulling some linens and a blanket loose before gently laying them over our third.

She didn't rouse.

Lifting my tea cup again I sat down tentatively on the edge of the arm of the couch and stared into the dark liquid. This wasn't over, not by a long shot. I sipped at the steaming cup and felt the tension in my head ease, a small relief in comparison to the inevitable headache that was surely soon to follow.

Serys had sacrificed her wings, cut them off completely just to make a point.

That type of devotion . . .

My hands wrapped more tightly around the cup in my hands, the porcelain beneath protesting against the strain.

We'd seen it once, I realized with no small amount of horror when I thought back on the challenges we'd faced over the last centuries with the Illyrians. The type of devotion that lead to broken families and the deaths of innocent children.

I released the tight grip on my cup and looked over to Mor who had finally snuggled down into the blanket I had laid over her. We would not see it again.

No matter the cost.


	18. Pancakes and Blood Pacts

The smell of burning batter and a flurry of curses roused Celeste from her deep slumber. The putrid stench wafted through the apartment as her eyes fluttered open, her mind trying to orient itself to her location.

Right, she was in Marchedor, the trade capital on the main continent between the human and fae lands, asleep on some useless male's couch.

Said useless male was currently cursing up a storm in the kitchen, the sound of clattering dishes resounding throughout the living space.

How had she gotten into this situation again?

Celeste was half tempted to fall back off into slumber as she nestled down into the soft warmth of the thick blanket around her, the luscious cashmere lulling her into remaining.

A loud smash followed by what Celeste assumed was a particularly vicious curse in that language Gandriel spoke chased slumber from her mind completely and she groaned into her pillow.

So much for more sleep.

Celeste rolled onto her feet, freeing herself from the velvety-soft blanket and let out a long yawn, stretching her arms above her head. She cocked her head and squinted briefly at the few tendrils of gray smoke inching under the low-hanging archway that led into the kitchen before making her way there herself. Turning the corner, she came face to face with Gandriel and could do nothing more than gape for a moment at the apocalyptic scene before her.

"What in the Cauldron's name are you doing?" Celeste inquired, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of the blond-haired male splayed across the granite countertop, a spoon in one hand and a half-full bowl of batter in the other, mere inches from the floor. The other half of the bowl's contents spilled down the sides of the counter and dripped sluggishly to the tile.

Smoke was billowing up from the stove, whatever he had been cooking burnt to a crisp.

"Cooking?" A blush flushed across Gandriel's cheeks as he straightened and hopped off the counter, narrowly avoiding the pooling puddle of what Celeste assumed was pancake batter.

"I'm not sure I'd qualify this as cooking." She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, quirking an eyebrow and nodding toward the hissing pan. Noticing his distressed bit of charcoaled batter, Gandriel slammed down the bowl before racing to the stove, using his spoon to scrape futilely at the deflated piece of dough clinging to the bottom of the pan.

Celeste had to blink.

He was using a spoon to flip pancakes.

She couldn't suppress the eyeroll.

Unfolding her arms from across her chest, she watched as Gandriel flipped the burned piece of bread onto a plate. He reached for the batter bowl, shoving the spoon into the base of it and rapidly stirring, sloshing batter over the edges and across his shirt.

Celeste noticed there was batter in his hair.

Shaking her head, she braved stepping fully into the kitchen and noticed a thin black object out of the corner of her eye. The useless artifact they had risked their lives for was laying on the counter, covered in pancake batter. She deadpanned, swiping the piece of metal up and running her hands down its dented surface, nothing more than scrap.

"I tried selling it this morning," Gandriel said, watching Celeste as he flipped yet another burnt attempt at a pancake out of the pan. "No one wanted it, at least not for more than 10 coppers. I figured I should try to get a bit more out of since we risked so much obtaining it."

With a sloshing motion the male dumped nearly half the remaining batter in the bowl into the newly emptied pan, nearly filling it to the brim, before resting the bowl back on the counter and poking at the batter with the wooden spoon.

Celeste set down the piece of scrap metal, her patience gone.

"For fuck's sake," she growled, ripping the spoon from Gandriel's hands in an attempt to save his most recent victim, its lumpy surface bubbling sluggishly from the heat.

"Hey!" he yelped as she shoved herself between him and the unsuspecting stove, evaluating the likelihood of saving the poor monstrous pancake cooking unevenly in the pan, "I was doing just fine."

"This," she pointed the spoon at the burned black shriveled bit on the plate, "isn't cooking, this is a crime. Go find somewhere and sit down." The current "pancake" was beginning to swell at the top and over the sides of the pan.

"My cooking is not a crime," Gandriel pouted, looking over Celeste's shoulder as she dumped the half-burned, half-doughy pancake onto the plate, declaring it a loss, "and that's not cooked all the way."

"There's no saving it," Celeste shot back, depositing the spoon back into his waiting hand and began rummaging through the drawers, looking for a spatula. "Didn't I tell you to go sit down?"

"Didn't I tell you to go sit down?" Gandriel mocked in a high-pitched voice, waving the spoon around as he walked towards the small table on the far side of the kitchen, "See if I cook for you again, bossy female."

Celeste didn't deign to reply as she finally found and pulled a spatula free from the farthest drawer, frowning as she blew dust from its surface. Stepping back to the pan she carved off a small piece of butter from the clump sitting next to the stove and tossed it into the pan, its sizzling humming through the room.

She poured an appropriate amount of batter into the pan and sat the bowl back down, pushing her dark curtain of hair over a shoulder.

It had been years but at least she still remembered how to cook pancakes.

"That's my favorite shirt I hope you know," Gandriel quipped from the table, his feet up and sipping at what appeared to be a glass of juice, "You should take it as a favor I let you borrow it."

Celeste quirked a fine eyebrow at him.

"Ah well, my apologies. Here, let me return it." She grabbed the hem of the shirt to pull it over her head and smirked as he yelped in protest as he threw his hand over his eyes, worse than a bashful child. "Oh, is that a no?" She snorted and released her hold on the soft fabric, "Then kiss my ass."

Turning her attention back to the pan she watched the batter bubble, correctly this time, listening to Gandriel mutter in his other language beneath his breath.

He had it coming, that and a lot more.

What had her life come to? A week ago she'd been home in Vanica, three days ago aboard a slave trader ship, yesterday in a tomb of newly risen undead and today making pancakes in some idiot male's home, wearing his sleep shirt.

She released an exasperated sigh; hopefully today she'd be headed to get Anelisse.

She slipped the spatula under the dough and tried to flip it but realized it was stuck to the bottom of the pan. She tugged at it gently, willing it to come free.

Nothing.

She applied more force.

The pancake sprang loose with a slurp and flew straight out of the pan to stick with a thwap on the wall behind the stove. The spatula went lax in Celeste's hand as she looked at it forlornly as it slid slowly off the wall.

"Oh ho," Gandriel snorted from the table across the room, "and I can't cook. At least I didn't get the damned thing stuck to the wall."

Celeste didn't even feel sorry as she swiped up the hot skillet and sent it flying at his face.

* * *

Gandriel was sporting a lovely goose egg on the side of his head as he plucked a couple pancakes from the platter Celeste had just sat down on the table next to pile of bacon and eggs she had also fried. He poured a disgusting amount of honey over the entire plate before slicing off a piece and popping it in his mouth.

Celeste tried and failed to hide her grimace.

"Not bad," Gandriel acknowledged around his mouthful of food, his elbow propped on the circular wooden table beneath them, "though I'd have left them a bit longer, they're a bit . . ." He quirked his head, "Chewy."

"I'm certain you would have," Celeste replied, shaking her head as she scooped several small round cakes onto her own plate and poured a more reasonable amount of honey over them, something she hadn't had in nearly a decade and something she had nearly forgotten the taste of.

Cutting into the cake, she took a bite and savored the sweet taste of the honey and the savory butter-

She spit the pancake out with a disgusted cough as she gagged. "What in the Mother's name did you do to that batter?"

Gandriel chewed thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes narrowed in concentration before they widened in understanding, "Oh that wasn't sugar was it? That was salt."

Celeste closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

Idiot, complete fucking idiot-

"Oh well," he shrugged, chewing loudly as Celeste's shoulders tightened in annoyance, "they're still edible. Here," Gandriel dumped his pile of bacon onto Celeste's plate and swiped up her uneaten pancake, "let's trade."

At least he was a somewhat considerate idiot.

"We're leaving to get my sister today," Celeste informed him as she ate her bacon and eggs, trying not to flinch as he shoveled the disgusting pancakes into his mouth. "We should go soon."

"You'll need new clothes." Gandriel swallowed, running a hand through his hair and pulling it away with a grimace when he found the batter that had been plastered there prior. "I already went down to the market and got some things for you. They're in my room," he pointed his fork at Celeste, "since your scrawny ass won't fill out anything I have."

Celeste swallowed her food and tilted her head, watching the male carefully.

"I don't have any money with me now." She cleared her throat, suddenly aware of the lack of anything she had, her utter poverty, ". . . I will have to pay you back when I get the chance."

Maybe that satchel of copper was still in the cottage.

"It's not necessary," Gandriel replied, waving her off, "I owe it to you for your help with my little . . . 'predicament,' 'That self-righteous smirk reappeared, his golden eyes twinkling obnoxiously, "Besides, I've got plenty to go around so I'm sure I could spare a few coppers to help out the less fortunate."

The fork in Celeste's hands bent in half.

Gandriel flinched.

"Kidding!" he added with a forced laugh, holding his hands out in front of him, "Just kidding."

Guilt rushed through Celeste and she shoved the plate of food away from her, no longer hungry. Wordlessly, she set her fork down and strode out of the kitchen, intent on finding the clothes in Gandriel's room.

More charity she was forced to take.

No, she'd pay him back, even if the prick didn't really deserve it.

She just needed to get to Anelisse, she could figure out the rest later.

"Hey!" he called after her, "It was just a joke! Don't get your underthings in a knot, I mean . . . not that you're . . . wearing . . . any . . ." An awkward cough and a pause. ". . . Are you going to finish your breakfast?"

* * *

Underthings seemed to the be the theme of the hour, Celeste realized as she picked up the skimpy pink things Gandriel had purchased her, nothing more than bits of twine and lace. The brassiere was no better, its surface sheer and covered in flowers.

She suppressed an eyeroll before slipping into them, they'd have to do.

At least the leggings and lace up shirt he'd purchased her were practical and well made, she grudgingly acknowledged as she slipped her feet into new warm wool socks.

Her host had been kind enough to wash her boots, the ichor and blood now gone from them. She pulled them on before swiftly braiding her hair back.

A sliver of bronze caught her attention on Gandriel's nightstand. The necklace that she had yanked off the wight was sitting there, its tarnished surface shimmering in the light slipping through the curtained window.

He must have picked it up from where it had fallen out of her dress that night before in the bathing room.

Curiosity won as Celeste walked over and reached out a tentative hand to the amulet, its surface smooth and worn.

She picked it up and turned it over in her hand, its make was rough and primitive, as though some unskilled hand had pounded it into the rough oval shape that it took. Inscribed on its surface were an array of faded angular symbols, letters Celeste assumed, that she couldn't decipher. On the top of the amulet was a vertical line with three shorter lines slashed perpendicular through it, parallel to one another.

It was slightly warm to the touch, and the power that thrummed from it was soft but ancient-

"Celeste!" Gandriel called from the other room, his voice muffled by the wall.

She jumped and nearly dropped the amulet. Without thought, she shoved the worn piece of bronze into her pants pocket. Gandriel wouldn't be needing it.

"I'm coming!"

* * *

"Are you ready to go?" Celeste asked, stepping out of Gandriel's room where she had changed and shutting the door quietly behind her, the weight of the amulet a phantom in her hand.

"About that," he said with a shake of his head, scratching the back of his neck, "We can't go just yet."

"What do you mean," Celeste growled, watching Gandriel cautiously as he palmed a knife loose from his belt, turning the piece of metal over in his hand. "You swore to me."

Celeste took a step back, planting her feet in a defensive stance and gauging the distance to the door, calculating.

If he chose to attack-

"I know I did," he sighed once, long and full of uncertainty, not meeting her eyes, "and I know where they took your sister, but I can't help you until you finish helping me."

He stepped forward, sliding his finger down the blunt side of the knife, the scent of fear coating him, fear and uncertainty.

"Where they took her?" Her eyes narrowed as the male looked at the knife in his hands hesitantly, "Gandriel, where did they take her? She should be in Vanica-"

"I can't tell you, not yet," He pulled the knife up and swallowed hard, finally meeting her eyes, and Celeste braced herself for the attack she was certain would follow. "You'll have to bring me back first." He sighed heavily, as though bearing a great burden, and closed his eyes. "Mother above, I hope this works."

And with no warning Gandriel brandished than knife and, to the utter horror and surprise of Celeste, slashed the blade across his own throat, deep and swift, drawing blood in a pooling torrent.

His eyes widened as he made a choking noise and collapsed to the carpet, the knife bouncing away from him.

Celeste stood there dumbstruck for a moment, in disbelief that he hadn't intended to use the knife on her but instead had slit his own throat.

His words settled in on her, You'll have to bring me back first.

He knew she could raise the dead.

He wanted her to revive him.

He was an entirely new level of insane.

Celeste stood there for an abnormally long amount of time watching Gandriel's blood seep into the already stained carpet, the life rapidly fleeing from his eyes and scent of his fading immortality assaulting her nose.

She could find Anelisse on her own, could let the bastard get what was coming to him and avoid playing into whatever games he intended to play.

That familiar tug pulled at her in warning, that thread weaving its way between her and the dying male on the floor.

He definitely had it coming, dragging her into a wight-infested tomb like that, nearly getting her killed. They couldn't have gotten that far with Anelisse-

The tug hit her again, harder this time, demanding.

"Fine," she growled, tossing down the small bag of supplies Gandriel had left for her and striding over to the prone male, "I hope this works."

She'd known he'd had ulterior motives but this? This was truly the pinnacle of stupidity.

He was a fool for banking on her saving him.

She'd never mastered the power, had never learned to control it or manifest it. It came and went as it pleased.

Celeste knelt and grunted as she rolled Gandriel over onto his back. Placing a hand on his chest, she felt the corded muscle beneath and the utter stillness from where his heart had spluttered to a stop.

She closed her eyes, willing the power to come.

Nothing.

She growled, digging her hand into the male's now blood-soaked shirt and willed it, willed the warmth to fill her and flow from her.

Still nothing.

Something like panic flitted through her and she cracked open her eyes and flattened her palm harder over Gandriel's chest, blood now soaking her boots once again.

"Please," she muttered, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread creep over her as the minutes began to tick by and nothing happened.

If he died because she couldn't save him-

She drew her hand back and slapped him, hard.

"Wake up you prick!" She snarled, shoving both of her hands onto his bloody chest, her heart racing as fear begin to take root in her. She shook him, violently. His head lolled back and forth as the blood finally faded to a barely discernable trickle.

She dropped his body back to the floor and sat back, her breathing becoming somewhat ragged.

"If you don't help me," she said to no one in particular as she closed her eyes, something like remorse flaring to the surface. If he survived this she'd kill him herself. "I can't save him."

The warmth suddenly pooled in the base of her stomach, rising and racing through her body, the familiar feminine presence smiling as the energy dripped through her fingertips into Gandriel's still cooling body.

It was a few moments before a gasp tore out of him and his blond lashes fluttered, his pupils constricting and flaring wide as his body reoriented itself to life.

Celeste let out a breath she didn't realized she'd been holding as she released her grip on Gandriel and curled in on herself, resting her elbows against her knees and her face in her hands.

Close, that had been too close.

"Celeste," he breathed roughly as his voice and consciousness returned, looking at her as though he were staring up at some holy being, "you actually saved me." He shoved his fingers into his hair. "I didn't think you'd actually do it." He laid there for a moment staring up at the ceiling.

"You can actually bring back the dead," he repeated, sounding a bit more focused. He looked up at Celeste again, who now knelt next to him, her arms crossed over her chest, her face no longer buried in her palms. Gandriel placed a palm over his own chest, as though checking for the pulse beneath, "I didn't think it was possible-"

She loosed a snarl at him.

He stopped and locked eyes with her for a moment before shooting upright past her, knocking her over onto her backside as he stood and immediately began unbuttoning his pants.

"GANDRIEL!" Celeste cried out as she watched the male fling open the bedroom door and immediately drop his trousers and underthings to the floor, oblivious to the show he was giving her. Had he lost what bit of his sanity he'd possessed upon being revived? "Have you lost your fucking mind?!"

Gandriel twisted in front of the full-length mirror she had briefly noticed on his bedroom wall, looking over his shoulder. He let out a howl of delight before turning and directing his uncovered rear triumphantly at Celeste.

"Do you see?!" He cried in delight, nearly shaking with excitement, "Do you see it?"

"See your bare naked ass?" She scowled as she turned her face and covered it with her hand, the utter whiteness of it appalling and nearly offensive, "Yes, unfortunately I do."

"It's bare!" he cackled, throwing his hands up in the air and laughing towards the high ceiling as he practically skipped back into the living room. "That bitch's mark is gone and my bargain is broken!"

"Her mark?" Celeste inquired, her nerves still frazzled from impromptu and unexpected suicide she'd just had to save him from, "Whose mark? You'd better start explaining things now, and truthfully."

Gandriel was near quaking with happiness.

"I made a bargain with a...woman" he said breathlessly, trotting back and forth through his own blood, his carpet even more ruined than it had been the night before, "I traded my body to her in exchange for favors."

"Your body?" Celeste asked incredulously, watching the male pace back and forth, his pants still about his ankles, "You sold yourself as a sex slave? Are you serious?"

"Yes!" Gandriel exclaimed throwing his hands up in the air, "It was a blood pact, one that could only be broken by death." He stopped and looked at her, grinning at her more widely and honestly than she had seen since their meeting. "And you just fixed that. That's what I needed from you, don't you see?"

He laughed again and made to move towards her as though to hug her.

"Pull up your fucking pants!" Celeste hissed, trying to ignore the surprisingly . . . impressive part of him. "I don't need to see your junk."

Gandriel looked down, having apparently forgotten his pants were at his feet.

"Shit!" He immediately bent down and pulled the article up, covering his manhood. "I'm sorry, I just had to know, had to see if her mark was gone."

"She marked you on the ass?" Celeste blinked, trying not to dwell on Gandriel's surprisingly white rear that didn't match his otherwise golden skin.

"It was her way of deterring other females from touching me," he explained, pulling his blood-soaked pants up around his hipbones and buttoning them shut. "I've been enslaved to her for months and have been trying to get out. I stumbled upon an old scrying glass amongst her things, she's ancient and bit of a hoarder, and it showed me a flash of you. So I stole the map and followed it to you."

He loosed a sigh. "But the fact that it worked . . ." he rubbed his hands across his face, "You raising the wights in the tomb should have assured me of that but seeing it, feeling it-" He looked at Celeste, tawny eyes full of honest gratitude, "Thank you."

"I didn't raise those wrights," Celeste muttered, her eyes locked with the carpet as she finally rose to her feet, "You were an idiot for thinking that was my handiwork. Was that the entire point of the tomb?" she hissed, glaring at him.

"I don't know," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders, a faint white line now prominent across his golden throat, "but the map showed it so I trusted it and followed." Gandriel flopped onto the couch. "What do you mean you didn't raise those wights?" he added as an afterthought, his brows furrowing as he took in her words.

"That wasn't me." She walked over and picked up the bag of supplies, adjusting the weight across her back. She didn't need this idiot's help. "Whatever that was, it wasn't me." His face blanched as the reality of the risk he took hit him.

A fool's risk that had barely paid off.

She was done with the games.

"Where's my sister, Gandriel?" Celeste questioned, watching the radiant male. His face sank a little as he looked at her.

"Likely still in Vanica," he stared at his blood-soaked carpet, his lip puckering in revulsion. "Unless that foul human male decided to take her already - he spoke of leaving with her after the wedding and heading to a large human city on the continent when he spoke to the crew on the docks. Rainfelle if I'm not mistaken." His face went even more white as he took in the deathly silence radiating off Celeste.

"I need to go now," she turned towards the door, marking her path out of the apartment.

"I need to change," he muttered, realizing he was dripping his own blood. "Just a minute, give me just a minute." Gandriel sprinted past her and into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Celeste wasted no time as she moved towards the door, intent on leaving.

Gandriel had already provided with all the things she needed.

The anger she felt was now icy, a sharp desire to end the human man who had taken her sister against her will.

And she also wasn't sure she wouldn't slit Gandriel's throat herself the next chance she got for all of the nonsense he'd put her through.

So she'd return to Vanica on her own and find her.

And if Anelisse wasn't there . . . well, she had other means of tracking her down.

Having a city name was a start.

At least she had supplies now and a weapon, she noted with some grim satisfaction as she swiped up Gandriel's discarded knife and sprinted out the door into the streets of Marchedor, the hot sun beating down overhead.

She gently patted her back pocket, checking for the folded scrap of paper she'd found stuffed in her host's drawer while she'd snooped earlier. The map he'd mentioned was now tucked safely on her person, and she began trotting down the long road, vanishing easily into the crowded streets.

Gandriel would be fine on his own and Celeste would be lucky if she never saw the useless male ever again.


	19. On the Open Seas

_**Hi All!**_

 _ **storyteller4271/art/Anelisse-762163240**_

 _ **storyteller4271/art/Celeste-758562169**_

 _ **storyteller4271/art/Gandriel-756822786**_

 _ **In case your interested my best friend completed character portraits for Anelisse, Celeste & Gandriel and I've provided the links above so go check them out (fanfictions refusing to link them so you'll have to add deviantarts URL to the beginning to reach the photos...)! She's planning to include other character portraits as I go. Hope you enjoy!**_

* * *

She had spoken too soon.

"Do you think pigeons have feelings?" Gandriel inquired as he and Celeste made their way down a wooded path, the rich sunlight dripping through the canopy in splattered rays of liquid gold and warming the air around them.

"I don't know, Gandriel," she ground out, glaring at the road ahead, her hands clenching and unclenching around the strap of her pack, "Why don't you go ask one, somewhere else, and see?"

He'd been at this nonsensical jabbering for four hours, filling the silence with any scrap of senseless noise he could conjure. Celeste was near snapping.

Within an hour of her leaving, he'd come barreling after her into the streets of Marchedor, squawking about her impromptu departure and that he was "only changing." Celeste had made it evident she was no longer interested in his services and that he was dismissed. He'd pursued, relentlessly.

"Once an Aella swears their loyalty, they never break their promises," Gandriel had proudly stated, swearing his sudden allegiance to her cause. Celeste had countered that he couldn't be that loyal considering the lengths he'd gone to get out of his last promise.

Bargain, he'd corrected her over and over, bargains weren't the same. He'd then gone into copious detail about the strange female he'd made said bargain with, about his reasonings and why she was a 'terrifying old crone' that he was glad to be rid of.

She stalked off mid-sentence hoping he'd return to his apartment and forget her presence. She'd had no such luck. Instead, he'd followed her and peppered her with questions that ranged from "what's your favorite color?" to "do you think life really has any meaning?" all the way to "what's it like having tits?"

Which is what let her to current predicament of incessant rambling that would not halt.

"I mean it's not an unreasonable thing to consider," Celeste groaned as she heard Gandriel duck beneath a low hanging branch, the limb twanging as he released it. "They're very intelligent creatures and are just as much a part of nature as we are."

It was hard to believe she had ever taken this idiot even remotely seriously. She counted it a miracle he hadn't summoned some wild beast to them with the amount of noise he was producing, as every phrase muttered from his lips sent throbbing through Celeste's skull.

"Could you imagine if one could communicate with us?" She screwed up her eyes against the noise of his boots scuffling across the ground in a lithe trot. He was truly far too happy and jovial to be of any use considering the severity of the undertaking Celeste was on.

She glanced sidelong at the large bulky branches scattered here and there amongst the fresh young grass peeking up along the sides of the road. Maybe she could hit him with one of them and leave him to be looted by bandits.

"Now, the real question is do they get as much pleasure from se-"

"Gandriel!" Celeste growled, shooting a glare over her shoulder, immediately silencing the radiantly happy male, "If you do not shut up this instant I will kill you myself and not bring you back this time."

He pouted a little and fell into silence.

Celeste almost sighed in relief, the pain in her head finally beginning to fade. If he could just keep quiet until they could get to Portmouth and boarded a ship he might stand a chance of not facing death by strangulation.

The quiet persisted for a time, the trill of songbirds flitting through the air. A sweet-scented breeze danced through Celeste's braid as she made her way up the steep incline in front of her, her long legs easily covering the distance.

This wooded path almost reminded her of the dirt one that lead to the small cabin she'd called home for years in Vanica, the one she and Anelisse had raced down as children to play on the beach.

She could almost hear the fluttering of her dress's fabric and her sister's high giggling screech as they chased one another through the woods, finding happiness and meaning in the cesspit that was inevitably their lives.

She leashed the thought of Anidre's warm hands braiding back her long hair into a flat plait, clicking her tongue over how long and healthy it was. Of the thought of her first years in Vanica when she and Anelisse would curl beside Anidre at night in that small bed, huddled close for warmth and comfort.

A knot formed in her throat that she tried to swallow around, attempting to force her mind away from the memory of easy mindlessness that had helped her damper her other more grueling flashes of her earliest years.

Peace, she concluded, peace for herself and Anelisse was all she really desired, the rest was irrelevant.

She surmounted the hill and began the trek down its winding path before the sound trickled into her ears.

It took a moment before she noticed the slight tapping noise, almost indiscernible.

Her eyebrow twitched and she glanced backward.

Gandriel was nervously tapping on the scabbard at his waist.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She gritted her teeth.

The tapping increased, almost rhythmically-

"Uh, Celeste," he piped up sheepishly, footsteps halting behind her, "might I say something?"

"What. Do. You. Want." She whirled on him, snarling, her temper snapping as she shoved her vulnerable thoughts down and away. "Gandriel."

His tan cheeks flushed as he rubbed the back of his head, his tawny eyes glancing off to the side.

"We're headed to Portmouth right?" He pursed his lips, golden skin bright in the dollops of fat sunlight sprinkling his high cheekbones and flashing off the gold rings in his ears, "If so we're going the wrong way."

* * *

For all the things Gandriel seemed to be awful at he'd done an excellent job getting them access onto a trade shipment of tea headed for Prythian. His pouty lips and flashing sensuous smile had done wonders to coax the busty demi-fae captain, Fallon she called herself, and her straight-backed first mate into letting them catch a ride.

"My power will provide you quiet seas and fast winds to Prythian if you grant us passage to Vanica," Gandriel had cooed to the woman, his tawny eyes gleaming as the Captain ogled him and glanced him over, sizing up land to be conquered. He'd vaguely gestured over a shoulder towards Celeste, "My sister here has some experience on the seas, and is a mighty fine sailor if I do say so myself."

Celeste had sent him a look of disbelief—his sister? She'd nearly snorted from the obviousness of the lie but instead had only angled her head in confirmation as the Captain glanced at her, green-hazel eyes assessing.

"Deal." The Captain had stood from her position at the table in Portmouth's infamous tavern, the Red Maiden, where they'd found her and her crew talking loudly about their shipment of cargo due to leave port that afternoon. She rolled up her map and nodded at the rest of her crew before sauntering toward the male, candlelight shimmering on the ridiculous feather in her over-sized purple hat. "Though I might require other . . . assistance from you if the need arises," the lovely woman had purred in return, brushing her hand across Gandriel's chest as she walked past him, winking.

He'd waggled his eyebrows at Celeste in victory as the beautiful Captain escorted them both out of the Red Maiden and down to the docks. She'd led them aboard her large vessel, the appropriately named Siren, her wide hips swaying a bit more than necessary as Gandriel and Celeste followed.

Celeste had managed to contain the eyeroll at his sheer idiocy but felt her lips turn up slightly at the corners at her companion's performance, his charisma one of the few features she'd found about the male to be useful.

They'd been shown to a small cabin beneath the ship, barely wide enough to fit both of them, its low ceiling requiring them to duck to access their small, worn hammocks as the sweet salt of the sea permeated the air around them.

It had been mere minutes since entering their room when Fallon's stone-faced first mate had come to inform Gandriel of the Captain's request for him to join her for dinner and "evening entertainment."

He'd grinned like a wolf.

Celeste had been left there to ponder while Gandriel had disappeared to 'freshen up,' informing her 'not to wait up for him.' She'd pointedly gagged as he'd swaggered out of the small room, a male aware of his allure with the opposite sex.

She'd only managed a few minutes of silence before she'd vacated her hammock and made her way to the main deck, itching to do something with herself, to avoid letting herself fall into a pit of reflection she wasn't sure she'd be able to escape.

Ascending the stairs, she was met with a cool, fresh onslaught of sea air as she took in the blue waves splashing calmly around them, the heat of the slowly sinking sun blotted out by thin clouds, no doubt summoned by Gandriel's own hand.

She took up position near the main mast, watching the sailors flit to and fro manning the sails and cleaning the decks as the ship pulled smoothly away from Portmouth. The crew appeared to be a menagerie of fae, demi-fae and human alike.

Something that came as a surprise to Celeste as she watched the young men and women manage the ship, calling out orders as the sails flared to life with the strong westerly winds, another gift from Gandriel.

Celeste also tried and failed to ignore the young blonde demi-fae male pulling the sails wide, his knot work limp at best. They'd be delayed several days if they intended to use such weak knots on their trek across the ocean.

"You looking for something to do?" a deep voice called to her left, catching her attention, "your brother said you could sail, we can always use more hands here to help."

Celeste turned her attention to the Captain's tall, dark-haired first mate, his brown eyes fixed on her face, analyzing. He was human, she noticed with a small cock of her head, his face more lined, skin more weathered than his fae and demi-fae crew mates.

She cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the boy attempting to wrangle his knots.

"He's not wrapping the rope right," she quipped, pushing herself off the mast and flipping her braid over a shoulder, nodding towards the young demi-fae pulling the other sail wide and flapping its binding rather fruitlessly, "If they stay loose like that it'll prevent the sails from catching the air properly. It'll slow you down." She glanced up at the man, "I can show him how to do it properly if you'd like."

The male watched her for a moment, assessing.

"My names Vaerek," he extended a scarred hand towards her, she took it gingerly and shook, "We'd be happy to see what pointers you have to offer."

"Celeste," she replied, loosening her hand from the tall man's firm grip. She surveyed the milling crew. "Shall we?"

Vaerek grunted his approval and motioned for her to lead the way.

* * *

It had been a few hours of peaceful calm coaching sailors on the deck on the proper ways to tie and fan the sails, the cool breeze smoothing her frayed nerves, before Celeste had retired to her small cabin for the evening, the sun now dipping in earnest below the horizon's edge.

She found out while working with the crew that the vast majority of them were just learning to sail, 'newly hired' Vaerek had told her, watching her with those calculating eyes as she'd taken her time on providing pointers on how to properly handle the vessel.

He shook her hand in thanks at the end of it all, telling her that he'd see to it personally she received food that evening and that'd he'd be happy to have her help the following day.

She'd nodded her acceptance before trekking off back to her room, her heart somehow lighter after the day of work and distraction.

This she could do, she noted, pulling her sweat-drenched shirt from her back, scowling down at the questionable underthings Gandriel had purchased for her. Work and focus helped keep her grounded, helped keep her from plummeting over the edge of panic.

She'd just sat in her hammock when the door to the cabin creaked open and a wild-eyed Gandriel crept into the room, naked except for his underthings and socks, reeking of booze.

"Enjoy yourself?" Celeste questioned, one brow arched as she watched the barely lucid male flop into his hammock, a moan of reprieve escaping his lips.

"That woman is a tyrant," he groaned, his voiced muffled as he lay face down in his hammock, "I didn't win a single hand of poker against her and she took everything from me except my skivvies."

Celeste shook her head, chuckling under her breath.

"She didn't even lose a single article of clothing," Gandriel continued, a pout on his lips as he rolled over and stretched his limbs in front of him, "just kept peppering me with questions and refilling my wine glass. Mother above, I had a lot."

"No kidding," Celeste replied, wrinkling her nose at the smell of wine wafting off the male.

"What'd you do all afternoon?" He questioned, as if realizing she was actually there for the first time and glancing sidelong at her, "That brassiere's nice—need something less frilly though, black would be better suited."

Celeste only rolled her eyes, _nevermind you were the one who bought them for me._ "I'll keep that in mind. I worked with the sailors this afternoon—most of the crew is new to sailing so I gave them some pointers."

"I'd take pointers from you if you were out there sailing in that piece of lace," he slurred slightly before flopping over onto his back, "though I'd imagine it wouldn't serve much use against the elements."

"That's what my arrogance is for," Celeste responded drily, yanking one of her boots free, "It protects me from all things, rain or wind."

Gandriel turned his attention to the woman, his brows furrowed in confusion, "Did you just make a joke?"

"Why would you think such a preposterous thing?" Celeste replied, her attention focused on her boots, "I'm the least funny person you know."

"By the Mother," he gaped, raising himself on his elbows, "you are capable of humor!"

Celeste opened her mouth to reply when a knock sounded at the door.

She rose quickly and opened the wooden door on silent hinges before coming face to face with Vaerek, a tray of food in his hands.

He quirked a silent brow at her attire and she nearly hissed in annoyance as she remembered what she was, or rather wasn't, clothed in.

"Looks nice, doesn't it?" Gandriel called sloppily from his hammock, ropes creaking as he attempted to look at their guest, "I told her as much."

Vaerek ignored him.

"I brought you and your . . . brother," a wry look at Gandriel over Celeste's shoulder, "food and drink, though I don't think he needs more."

The male grumbled in disagreement, though he surely knew the truth to those words.

The first mate handed the tray over to Celeste. "The Captain also sent down his clothes from their earlier . . . endeavors," he motioned to the side where he'd set down Gandriel's pile of clothes and boots. "She sends her thanks for the entertainment."

Celeste shoved her tongue in her cheek as she heard her companion mutter 'tyrant' under his breath. Vaerek's eyes twinkled in amusement.

"Thank you," she tucked the food covered tray against her hip, "you and your Captain have been very generous with us and we greatly appreciate it." Vaerek nodded in confirmation.

"Send word if you need anything else," he replied before turning on his heel and making his way down the hallway, no doubt heading back to eat dinner with the crew.

Celeste shut the door, the small candle on the cramped nightstand in the corner flickering in the darkness.

"'Looks nice?'" Celeste questioned, watching the sloshed male nearly capsize his hammock as he attempted to wiggle into a sitting position, reaching out for the food, "I'm under the ruse of being your sister, remember?"

Color stained Gandriel's cheeks. ". . . Right."

"Harmless" was the word that danced through Celeste's mind as she handed over one of the loaves of crusty bread and bowl of lamb stew to him, entirely harmless.

She watched Gandriel drop his spoon into his soup, frowning forlornly at the thick liquid.

Harmless, but clueless.

Celeste sat and began devouring her own dinner, musing. Anelisse would love him.

She watched as he picked at his food, having fished his spoon out of the bowl, and realized just how young he looked, how . . . light.

Something heavy settled in her stomach as she stared into her own bowl.

* * *

"So, your parents," Celeste inquired later that night, settling into her small hammock and slipping free from her pants, entirely unfazed by the drowsy male beside her seeing, "what's their story?"

The conversation during dinner had been surprisingly easy: they'd talked about everything from the weather to their food preferences. Celeste had gotten the impression that for all of his bravado Gandriel hadn't been many places, and he had an innocence to him that she hadn't originally detected.

He was also young, especially by fae standards, only twenty years her senior.

"My parents are from Monteserre," the male replied easily, his arms resting above his head as he kicked his leg to and fro, rocking his hammock. Sobriety had returned quickly after dinner and he'd swiftly regained his clothing.

So that's where the accent was from.

"My mother is a Lady from the Aella family," he continued looking up at the ceiling, "names are passed through the mother's line there. She's wilder than any fire and wickedly sharp, she's also got a mean left hook," he rubbed his face as though in memory, then paused. ". . . And my father is a florist."

Celeste couldn't quite suppress her snort. Somehow, she wasn't the least bit surprised.

No wonder the fool was so flowery.

"He comes from a decent line himself but spends his time tending to his gardens," Celeste cocked her head at the bit of bitterness there, barely perceptible. "He's so preoccupied with his flowers that my mother ended up splitting ways with him for it. She now lives in a village on the outskirts of Monteserre, weaving and sewing as her pastime."

"Who do you favor?" Celeste inquired, the rocking of the ship nearly lulling her to sleep.

"My mother," Gandriel replied quietly, the tightness in his tone again nearly palpable, "the features and the power both, they come from the Aella line. The only thing I got from my father was his hair, everything else is Aella."

Somehow Celeste highly doubted that, especially as she thought back upon the array of soaps lining his bathroom wall in Marchedor.

"What about you?" Gandriel inquired, "What's your story? Why is a fae woman being raised by humans in Vanica of all places?"

Celeste's blood ran cold but she kept her voice steady as she answered.

"I was disowned a long time ago," Celeste replied, turning her back to Gandriel and nestling down into the loose hammock, "where I'm from only the strongest survive and good luck to you if you're born a woman."

"What kind of back-assed place do you come from?" Gandriel inquired, lifting his head slightly to look at her, something like concern on his face. "The women in Monteserre practically run the place, the men just try to ride out the storm of their fury most of the time."

"Somewhere I have no wish to return to." She felt an icy grip around her heart as she thought of the flash of membranous wings that haunted her dreams.

"And your power?" Gandriel asked, she could feel his eyes on her back, watching, "Where'd that come from?"

"I have no idea," she nearly whispered, wondering if the wine had gone to her head with the information she was allowing him to hear, information she'd withheld even from Anelisse.

He must have scented something on her though, as he cleared his throat, "So what about your human family?"

She thought back to the two long tapered marks on her back. "I was dumped off in Vanica afterward and was taken in by Anidre," she nearly choked on the name, "and my sister, Anelisse."

"Ah, the beautiful blonde one," Gandriel replied, sucking on a tooth.

"You saw her?" Celeste inquired, shooting her attention to the hammock next to her.

"No, but by the way she was described," he shook his head, "she must be some beauty to have caught the attention of that hellish human male."

"Hellish doesn't even begin to describe it," she muttered, staring into the darkness, having blown out the candle before settling into her hammock, "the only real monster on that island was him."

"How was that?" the blond inquired, "Being the only fae on an island full of humans."

"Fine if you enjoy being spat at every day," she replied, with no small touch of bitterness. "I haven't found humans to be the most accepting creatures."

"Really?" Gandriel sounded perplexed. "All of the humans I've met in Marchedor have been fine, maybe standoffish, but never so . . . hateful."

Celeste snorted. "The whole world isn't Marchedor." She thought back on the golden streets and cheerful laughter flitting through that beautiful city so similar to a place she once knew. "Especially not isolated islands were the bloodlines are shallow."

Gandriel was silent for a moment, considering.

"Maybe once we find your sister," she heard the creak of ropes and jumped as she felt the unexpected brush of a hand against her shoulder. She struggled not to cringe away from the touch, "you and Anelisse can come back to Marchedor, start over there. Stay at my place until you get one of your own." There was such kindness in that tone, such innocence. "Mother knows I owe it to you after what I put you through."

Celeste breathed deeply as she shifted in her hammock. "I'll think about it."

* * *

". . . What happened?" Celeste gasped as she stood on the crumbling docks of Vanica, smoke billowing in the air from old fires burning down. "Everything's . . . gone. Everyone's . . ." she choked on her words as she caught sight of the grey hands peeking beneath collapsed buildings, horror racing through her, ". . . dead."

"Looks like the slave traders got here first, girl," Fallon stood next to Celeste, her hazel eyes crinkling sadly as her auburn waves lifted in the breeze. "They tend not to take kindly to having their boats capsized and their cargo . . . liberated."

Information Gandriel had no doubt provided the Captain during their game of strip poker several nights earlier.

"I have to look," Celeste insisted, panic creeping into her as she took off across the dock, "I have to."

"Thank you, Captain," Gandriel bowed his head towards the tall demi-fae, "We'll be quick."

"Do you need help?" the woman asked, glancing at Celeste's shrinking figure, an odd gleam of understanding flashing in her eyes.

Something inside him felt as though it were cleaving as he shook his head at the Captain, the woman who'd shown them unexpected kindness.

"No," he shook his head, "We can manage."

"We'll be here when you finish, Gandriel." She nodded before striding back aboard her ship, her crew standing stone-faced as they watched the smoldering ruins of the tiny island.

The male took off at a steady pace from the docks and sprinted after Celeste, her black hair disappearing behind smoking ruins as she raced through the town.

Gandriel's heart sank as he caught a flash of the devastation on her face and quickened his pace, fearing what they would find in their search.


	20. Vanica

Celeste's feet slid on the loose pebbles as she bolted through the next set of hollow roads of Vanica, the scent of death assaulting her nose as she tried and failed to ignore the fury that bloomed her chest with each new corpse that met her eyes, rotting in the streets.

Countless, but not nearly enough to account for everyone on the island. Likely the rest had fled.

Many of them had been right bastards to her, had deserved terrible fates, but this - this was horrendous. This was a fate that she would have wished on no one. A fate, she realized looking at the mutilated limbs and silent screams of horror on the faces of the dead, that few deserved.

She'd ransacked through every ruin, every empty home, searching, looking.

Anelisse, she had to find Anelisse.

She tore around a corner and slid to a halt at the ruin before her. What had once been the baker's shop was now nothing more than a pile of smoldering rubble, bits of singed and rotted bread lying strewn amongst the broken glass and caked, dried blood.

Celeste felt her stomach roll as she took in the prone form of the baker—the hollow eyes of the elderly woman who had tended the shop staring lifelessly skyward, her floral dress ripped and torn in ways that told Celeste her death had been neither painless or easy.

She stepped forward softly before kneeling next to the prone woman's form, her fingers curled as though she had tried to claw her way away from whoever had killed her.

Celeste reached out a tentative hand and placed it over the woman's chest before diving deep within herself, willing any dregs of her power to spill forth.

Nothing.

She pulled her hand away, feeling utterly useless.

It had been the same with numerous others she had tried to breathe life into again on the island, but it had been hopeless. She let out a long breath, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands.

Some use this power was when it couldn't even work when it was needed. Another life wiped out due to corruptions of men.

So much like the countless other remains she had searched through, had tried to revive and save, frantically analyzing and hunting for Anelisse.

There had been no trace of her. And if she was here, and if she had died with the rest of the island's occupants . . . if Celeste couldn't bring her back . . .

She felt her breath come in a ragged gasp, panic and anger beginning to take her.

Control, she realized steadying herself internally, she had to take control, to keep herself in check if she wanted any chance of finding Anelisse, of finding any remaining soul on this wretched island.

She sniffed the air for any whiff of her sister, of anyone she knew-

Nothing, she realized, stopping and glancing fruitlessly across the wreckage as nothing but smoke and decay swirled around her, they had spared nothing and no one. And any remaining scents had long since been blotted out by death and fire.

Loosening a growl Celeste whirled on her heel and made her way toward the largest house on the island, the sound of her frantic heart drowning out all the other sounds.

Perhaps there would be some clue, some hint as to what happened, where her sister was at the Penningtons' estate.

* * *

Gandriel had no words for the desolation before him, for the smell of the dead saturating the air, for the sight of children and women, their limbs twisted in unnatural ways, their faces peeled back in screams of terror. For the silence that permeated the air around him.

The silence that only death could claim.

He had seen death, the death that took those in the throes of illness and the death of animals taken from the hunt but this . . . full on _slaughter_ . . . Nausea rose up to meet him. He'd never seen the likes of this.

A heaviness unlike any he'd ever felt dusted over his heart as he caught sight of a small hand peeking out from beneath a collapsed wall, pale fingers reaching skyward.

Gandriel stepped forward into the remains of the house and easily lifted the fallen wooden wall, its remaining paint stark against the soot covered surface. He threw the wall aside, revealing the owner of that tiny, frail hand: a small child.

The girl's blonde curls were muted and matted with grey dust and ash, her milky blue eyes wide in frantic fright in her final moments. She'd been so very close to escaping the crumbling building before it'd collapsed down upon her.

The male could do nothing more than stare for a moment before frantically throwing the remaining debris covering her legs to the side. He carefully lifted the child up and away from the smoldering ruin, her tiny body already beginning to bloat with rot, before resting her gently on the smooth cobblestone beneath him and kneeling beside her.

She was so incredibly small, so helpless and had had no means to protect or defend herself when hell had rained down up the small island. And he, too, had never felt so helpless, so unable to do anything about this tragedy before him.

But Celeste . . .

He looked behind him to where his companion was tearing through the rubble, her occasional scream for her sister reverberating around him. A loud crash echoed toward him as she threw aside a heavy wooden beam before stopping and surveying the destruction before her, looking lost.

"Cel-" Gandriel's voice cracked, he cleared his throat of the tears before calling out once more, "Celeste?"

Celeste's head snapped to him, violet eyes glancing him over before picking her way through the fallen house toward him, pausing as she noticed the tiny form before him.

"Is there anything-?" Celeste began sadly shaking her head before the last of the words could leave his mouth.

"I've already tried," she swallowed hard, her hands twisting idly before her, "My power. . . it . . . it won't respond. I think it's been too long." A pause. "I'm sorry."

Something wet and warm slid down his cheek as he felt that tiny spark of hope flaring in his chest extinguish. Just as that tiny, defenseless mortal life before him had been doused out like water to a flame.

Gandriel felt something crack within him.

Guilt tore through him as he considered his involvement in it, considered how he had been the one to free Celeste, had been the one to sabotage their ship.

This could have been prevented had he chosen not to be so selfish—

An internal wise voice inside stopped him, calming his thoughts.

They would have done it regardless, he realized, smoothing back the blood-caked blonde hair from the small girl's head, and he could have done nothing to stop it. He shook his head. A small island like Vanica where no one ventured was the ideal place to take slaves.

He'd be surprised if they hadn't taken anyone else with them, hadn't herded those they saw fit onto their ship and slaughtered the rest.

These were the tales of nightmares, the tales of dark corrupted histories, not of the world he knew - that safe, sheltered world full of sunlight where the wildest storms and darkest thoughts could be calmed with a whisper and the humming of the woman who loved him most.

A heavy sigh escaped his parted lips as he raised shaking fingers to ever so gently close the child's vacant eyes and sent up a small prayer to the Mother to watch and guide.

They would have done this and more anyway. He rose, a shiver dancing down his spine, to think what they would have done to Celeste had he left her. He glanced towards his left where the fae woman had returned to her search through pile after pile of rubble.

Both had come up empty-handed, no signs of her sister or the wretched male that had summoned this horror to this small island. Nothing more than dust and ash and death.

Gandriel rose, attempting to dust off his hands on his already filthy trousers when he noticed a tiny flutter of color in the dust beside where the child had lain. With quick, nimble fingers he swiped up the small object, dusting off its worn surface.

It was ragdoll, made of poorly woven wool and bits of red twine, crude in making but well-loved. He dusted off its small smiling face, a stone of sadness in his chest dropping as he trailed his fingers over the soft fabric. The girl must have been carrying it when she'd died.

The stone turned sharp and molten, forging itself into intent.

Celeste wouldn't be the only one holding a bounty over Lukas's head, Gandriel darkly mused as he ever so gently tucked the little doll into his pocket, the air around him suddenly buzzing with static.

Dark clouds loomed on the horizon and distant thunder rolled as he slowly turned away from that small form on the stone. No, there was more than a bounty on that man now.

* * *

Celeste had come up empty-handed on Anelisse's whereabouts as she searched Lukas's home, nothing more than strewn receipts and idle pools of dried blood from the servants sprayed across his wooden floors, painting a grotesque scene.

She tried rifling through the papers for any notes or logs on where Lukas had gone as well but only found old ledgers and the meager pay stubs the Penningtons had provided their workers with, amongst those her own.

She stopped, however, when she came across her name again in a leather-bound book shoved into the deep recesses of a bookshelf, written across a receipt. Celeste felt her eyes widen.

It was the receipt from when the Penningtons had sold her out, her and, it seemed, many others. Celeste's eyes danced down the list of names of people she knew on the island. On the bottom of the ledger was Lukas's signature.

"To be obtained in shipments of no more than three per load," she murmured, reading from the contract, her gut recoiling in disgust.

Lukas had intended to sell the poorest of the island's occupants, a trade agreement that had been woven into the ties his father had been making with the continent.

To think Anidre had willingly sold Anelisse into this life, into this role with that monster. She shook the thought from her head, refusing to acknowledge the small hovel that now sat abandoned on the opposite side of the island.

Any other papers she'd found had been soaked in blood, useless and illegible.

 _Some alliance_ , Celeste thought bitterly as she continued her search the trashed mansion, every bit of gold and silver now gone from the Penningtons' lavish estate. The slavers had gouged out strips of destruction in the well-tended walls and floors, peeling up the wood like strips of curled ribbon. They had cracked that great wooden table into tiny bits of splintered wood, strewn about like sawdust.

She'd found Lukas's father still in his elegant night things, the lovely silk now dyed the deepest crimson, as though he'd scrambled from his bed before they'd slit his throat, then left him to him to bleed on his glossy pale comforters. His wife appeared as though she'd never even risen before they'd sliced her throat as well, like a fish gutted.

There had been no Lukas though, no sign of his sorry hide and none of her sister.

Maybe Martha and Adder had survived, had helped Anelisse in some way. They would have been the only ones who would have tried who would have cared enough.

They were her last chance.

Celeste barely registered Gandriel falling into step behind her as she left the manor, coming from Cauldron knew where he'd been helping her search, his scent doused in death and disgust as he glanced around him.

"Those sorry bastards," he hissed, easily keeping pace with her as she raced down the familiar path to the docks. "To think anyone could do this, something so . . ." she heard the throat-deep growl, "vile."

"The docks," she rasped, weaving through the rubble, her mind focused on only one thing, "Martha and Adder's house was there, if anyone survived it would have been-"

Gandriel didn't let her finish. "Lead the way."

Celeste nodded before sprinting off, faster than she had before, racing against a clock she knew she couldn't beat.

* * *

It was only minutes before Celeste came upon the old red brick cottage, small and quaint but lovely, just as she remembered it. Her mind flashed with memories of when Martha and Adder would conveniently invite her and Anelisse over for dinner when they were small, when their ribs became a bit too obvious beneath their dirty clothes.

The gardens lay in tatters, the rose bushes hacked to bits and the irises stomped, Adder's small collection of figures from his travels in his youth shattered into frayed pieces of chipped metal and splintered wood.

"To guard against the fae," he'd told her once with a wink about the little iron figurines before ruffling her hair, "But only the bad ones."

The windows had been burst out from the cottage itself - but it stood whole, as though the love that had filled that home had stood as some barrier to weather the storm that had crashed into Vanica.

Celeste didn't bother with manners as she rushed the door and slammed it open, the wood bending and cracking beneath her immortal strength.

"Anelisse!" Celeste cried, glancing frantically around the old cottage, searching for any sign of her sister or of the old couple that had watched after them, "Martha! Adder?"

There was nothing, the house empty. Items were strewn carelessly about as though someone had rushed to leave, taking little care in shoving only the bare necessities into a satchel before fleeing.

Adder and Martha had fled, rather quickly Celeste realized as she caught a whiff of their scents—both stale and old, older than the remnants of the others on the island. And unlike the rest of the island, there was no scent of death and decay here, only dust.

There was a chance they had made it out then.

Celeste damned courtesy as she began upturning things, looking for any sign or clue that the older couple may have left her, any hint of their departure. She was certain they had fled before the slavers had arrived, but why? How could they have known?

She barely registered Gandriel pulling items from shelves behind her, searching also.

There had to be something, anything.

She kept turning up nothing, panic rising as hoarfrost chased a path around her heart. Surely Martha and Adder would have known she would get away, would return looking for Anelisse, would have known she'd come back for her, for them.

Tossing a basket of earth-toned yarn to the side in frustration Celeste heard the chink of metal against tile as a brassy pendant slid across the floor, its tarnished surface reflecting poorly in the dim light of the cottage.

It took her a moment to realize what had just fallen out.

Martha's locket, a gift from her mother and her mother's mother before that.

She would have never left that piece of jewelry, not in a million years, unless-

Celeste quickly swiped it up and pried open the delicate cover, a thin piece of parchment tumbling out into her waiting hands. Behind her Gandriel had stilled.

She wasted no time in unwrapping it.

 _Celeste if you somehow find this,_

The handwriting was delicate but messy, written as though by shaking, fearful hands.

 _He took her to the mainland._  
 _Slavers are headed here Lukas let slip,_  
 _His newest business venture without his father's knowledge._

Fury eddied in Celeste's heart as the pieces clicked together on what contracts Lukas had been making in tandem to the ones his father had been drawing those months ago, not trading in fish but in human goods.

Lukas Pennington had sold Vanica out, like sheep sent to slaughter.

Those missing bodies, the ones she hadn't found in the rubble, hadn't escaped but instead had been taken as collateral for what Gandriel had done to their ship.

 _We tried to get her, but to no avail.  
_ _The smell of salt wafted off the paper.  
_ _We've run, find her quickly._

Some hybrid of relief and horror crashed through Celeste, the slavers hadn't gotten to Anelisse, hadn't ripped her open unlike many of the other occupants of the island.

But she was still with Lukas.

She didn't realize she'd crumpled the letter in her hand, had bitten her lip so hard that it bled until Gandriel placed a hand on her shoulder, those bright golden eyes shadowed, darker.

Something had changed in that gaze.

"We need to go." Celeste shoved the paper into Gandriel's waiting hands and pushed past him, pocketing the locket next to the odd bronze pendant she'd swiped up on the island and the carefully folded map-

The map.

Celeste quickly pulled the piece of parchment from her pocket and unfolded it, not caring what reaction Gandriel would give upon finding out she'd stolen his artifact.

He gave no indication of caring as he knelt down beside her, the note folded in his hands.

Celeste cleared the broken glass and pottery from the floor with a sweep of her arm and laid the map out, smoothing its edges with her hands. The ancient parchment's appearance was unremarkable, its surface lined with continents and countries but no markings—

"How does it work," Celeste hissed at Gandriel, not bothering to look at him as she glared at the blank piece of parchment, "Tell me how to use it or I swear I'll-"

"Like this." Gandriel gently lifted Celeste's hand, then slipped the knife from his belt and softly pricked her finger, welling up a bubble of scarlet blood before pressing it into the map. The blood disappeared into the parchment, a small red dot inching across its surface, searching.

It crossed the space between the small cluster of islands where Vanica resided at the southern end of the human realms over towards the main continent.

It was inching towards a tiny dot, due south of Marchedor.

Rainfelle.

* * *

Celeste wasted very little time after gathering up the map and placing it back in her pocket before she'd departed Vanica. She'd hiked up the trail to the old cottage to retrieve the few personal belongings that she and Anelisse had possessed and to put Anidre to rest.

She'd contemplated it for a time, if the woman had deserved a proper burial but had decided that regardless of everything she at least deserved the peace she had so desperately wanted.

Upon opening the door she'd nearly vomited when she'd caught scent and sight of Anidre's decomposing form, had nearly lost her composure as she looked over the woman she had called mother for years.

Gandriel had offered to bury her, had taken the time to dig a wide, deep hole in the soft soil outside of the cottage for her final resting place, the first droplets of oncoming rain soaking into the dingy fabric over his broad shoulders.

Celeste did the best she was able and wrapped Anidre's fragile remains in the small soil-colored comforter from her bed - the blanket Celeste had slept under as a child, fearful of the storms and what lurked in them. She then gently removed the golden ring embedded with a sapphire from her right hand.

A memento for Anelisse, one passed from mother to daughter as Anidre had once told them. She slipped the small silver wedding band her adoptive mother had carefully hidden in the top drawer in its place.

Even in death she wouldn't be without her husband's memory.

It had been nearly heart-shattering to watch Gandriel lift up the fragile corpse and lower it ever so gently into the ground outside of her home. She'd refrained from saying any final words when prompted but had instead instructed the male to "finish it" before stalking back into the empty home and gathering up the few remaining bits of their old life.

Odds and ends of Anidre's: hair combs, silver bracelets and rings, all things from her time as a Child of the Blessed. Things she'd refused to part with even in the face of poverty.

She'd then carefully packed the awful lip color and kohl Anelisse had tried to force on her during the Spring celebration, something that felt as though it had happened in another life in light of recent events. Finally, she'd packed the last of her and her sister's scarce belongings before gently wrapping the two porcelain mugs in Anelisse's dresses before rising.

She'd looked the cottage over once, and the small patch of fresh earth now beside it, eyes hard and heart frozen before nodding her head and stepping back onto the path, intent to never return.

* * *

The rain had begun to fall in earnest as they made a beeline for the docks, a dark plume now marking their destination. It seemed the crew of the Siren had taken it upon themselves to offer the dead what little peace they could. The pyre burned high, smoke stinging Celeste's eyes as raindrops hissed on the coals.

Celeste had approached a stone-faced Fallon and Vaerek standing beside the high flames, their faces shadowed as they watched the bodies fade to ash.

She quickly explained what she had found, that Lukas's family had sold out half of the island's inhabitants and that he'd likely taken Anelisse with him when he'd fled the island for the mainland.

"Which way do we cast the sails?" Fallon asked, Vaerek standing behind her still, his face unreadable.

"Rainfelle," Celeste had barely breathed the word before the Captain was barking orders, her shoulders oddly rigid as she strode toward the ship.

Fallon turned away from the flurry of activity and regarded Gandriel sharply, "That magic of yours had better work quickly if we want any hope of tracking them down." She crossed her arms under her ample chest, gaze hard as she faced Celeste. "If they're headed for Rainfelle we have even less time to set those people free and find that sister of yours. That place is the capital of the slavers."

"Wait, you're taking us there?" Gandriel asked, his brows quirking as he watched the woman in confusion, "You had a shipment of tea to take to Prythian-"

"Did you really think we were actually taking tea?" Fallon snorted, nearly rolling her eyes, "We've been tracking these slave ships for months and word was it that you'd served on the ship that eradicated this little town."

Hurt flashed across Gandriel's tawny eyes.

"When we saw you in the Red Maiden we thought you'd taken the girl as another shipment," Fallon nodded toward a straight-backed Celeste, "but I figured out rather quickly during that pathetic game of poker that you were clueless; you let the information slip with a few sips of wine. Any slaver worth his gold wouldn't hand over information so easily."

"So that's why you helped us," Celeste breathed watching the dark-haired Captain, "Then what was your shipment to Prythian?"

"Freed slaves," Fallon glanced over a shoulder at her men, and also her cargo Celeste suddenly realized. No wonder they hadn't the slightest clue how to sail. "We're taking them to our allies amongst the Seven Courts to keep them out of the traffickers' hands."

"But if they're to escape," Gandriel interjected, "wouldn't you be taking them back into harm's way by helping us?"

"If you don't mind me saying, sir," The blond demi-fae Celeste had taught to tie sails, Koda if she remembered correctly, stepped forward. "I'm willing to risk my life to prevent another, human or fae, from facing the fate that I almost succumbed to." The entire crew paused, all attention towards Celeste and Gandriel.

"We're all willing to risk it," Koda continued. "We've discussed it."

There was a silent pause as all of the crew members nodded, the subtle scars Celeste had noticed most possessed days before suddenly prominent.

"When do we set sail?" She inquired, locking gazes with Fallon.

The captain shook her now rain-drenched hair out of her eyes and swept up that magnificent hat, plopping it on her soaked ringlets, "Now."


	21. Rainfelle

Celeste shivered as she made her way down the soaked path inland towards Rainfelle, her cloak wrapped tightly about her shoulders as she hurried across the sodden ground, thunder rumbling distantly overhead.

It had been mere days since their time on Vanica and the sight of the innocent dead still haunted her, their glossy eyes cast skywards and their scents nearly indiscernible from the stench of rot. They'd departed from the island rapidly after the pyres and few quiet prayers had subsided, the torrential rain that hit the isle shortly after the fires had died killing any remaining embers.

Celeste was fairly certain she knew who had attracted that storm.

She glanced sidelong at Gandriel, his face hidden in the folds of his hood as he kept pace with her, his feet squelching in the mud. He'd been oddly silent since they'd departed Vanica, his eyes shadowed.

Not that she blamed him, she thought as a particularly bright streak of lightning briefly illuminated the path ahead, one's first exposure to the corruption of men and fae alike could crush even the most resilient of souls.

They'd been on the road inland since before dawn and the watery light was now rapidly dwindling, casting the hollows beneath the dripping trees into deep, misty shadows. Celeste had refused to stop and camp for the night, despite the rain - she knew every passing second was time they were giving Lukas to get ahead of them. Gandriel had only nodded his agreement.

Fallon had said she'd wait on the coast as long as she could for their return. If they returned.

The picture the Captain had painted of the slavers was at best gruesome. The demi-fae had warned against their tricks and that they'd be wise to keep their eyes sharp. She'd offered to accompany them but had been shut down by immediately by Vaerek with one sharp look and a shake of his head.

Too risky, the first mate had claimed, stepping protectively in front of the glowering woman who looked primed to give him a piece of her mind for giving her orders. They'll know your face immediately if they see it, Vaerek had chided her, you'll risk everything we've built if you go.

That and that her astonishingly short temper and fat mouth were liable to get them all killed, the stone faced first mate had concluded with, rather bluntly.

Fallon, albeit grudgingly, had conceded.

"We'll stay and search the area," she'd replied coolly, eyes flickering between Celeste and Gandriel. "We've been looking for their main harbor for months. Let's see if we can flush out any of these vessels they've kept so expertly hidden."

With that, they had stepped onto the beach in the dim early morning light and began their trek towards the tiny town of Rainfelle.

Despite the rain, the muddy trail was still dimpled with hundreds of footprints, some booted and some bare. The path wound miles inland, away from the sand and scrub of the coast into rolling, deeply forested hills. Here the trees were clustered tightly, the branches and leaves rustling overhead.

When the downpour of rain that had soaked them within an hour of setting out intermittently slowed, a trickle of thick droplets still splattered down from the canopy, continuously soaking them. No one desiring to travel comfortably or with any amount of ease would venture this way - an ideal path for moving large masses of people without detection.

A path that clever map had shown them on their journey inland.

Celeste took solace in the presence of the deep footprints that remained mostly intact – the group could not be far ahead. Transporting that many people, many of whom were unlikely to move quickly on such a journey, would slow them considerably, and with any luck it would be easy for two fae travelers swift of foot to catch up to them quickly.

At least she hoped as much.

There had been no notable footsteps or scents that had given any indication of Anelisse's presence with the party and it left Celeste's nerves frayed, but the map held firm on their course, so she followed without protest.

She just had to move quickly.

Celeste barely registered the scent wafting past her as she made her way over a particularly clay-ridden part of the road, her boots sinking deep into the sludge. She paused for a moment, wondering if she'd imagined it, that hint of salt and iron woven in amongst the thick smell of rain and sodden earth.

Blood.

Just the slightest tinge drifted through the air, like a snarl in the tapestry of wet forest. Celeste threw out a hand, stopping Gandriel where he had come up behind her as she sniffed at the air trying to discern the subtle differences that were nearly impossible to pinpoint in such a downpour. He cocked his head at her, opening his mouth to ask a question, when suddenly the other subtle scent entangled within the bloody stench registered in Celeste's mind and her eyes flared in recognition.

It was faint, but still discernible: that slight whiff of lavender and vanilla that had clung to Anelisse since they were children. A scent that Celeste knew better than her own.

She motioned Gandriel to the side of the path, where the scent seemed the strongest. The mud there was smudged oddly, different from the regularly dimpled and puddled surface of the main path where so many had passed through. Celeste pushed aside a bush and scoured the ground.

There - barely visible from the torrent of rain, a small set of delicate footprints dug deep in the soil and sodden leaves next to larger, deeper-set tracks. As those the bigger of the two had had to fight to drag the smaller set off the road.

A thrill danced through Celeste's veins as she pushed past Gandriel and shot off the path, following the trail that was rapidly disappearing under the torrent of heavy rainfall. They couldn't have been more than a day ahead of them if the tracks were still visible.

Who had dragged Anelisse off the path? Lukas? And why? It was clear she had fought every step, the thick layer of fallen leaves lay strewn in all directions, the small indentions of her booted feet digging deep in the earth beneath them as though she kicked and screamed the entire way. The slight stench of blood dancing in the twilight air seemed to indicate she had literally clawed and likely bit trying to get away.

A shred of dripping and muddied sky-blue cloth hung caught on a branch, soaked by the rain and seeping earth. Celeste stopped only briefly to snatch the piece of fabric, the exact shade that her sister loved so well . . . that same soft scent was stronger here, coated in terror and . . . fury. Another scent clung to that small bit of cloth as well: wet stone and mud, but blanketed in a thick layer of old cologne . . .

It had indeed been Lukas who dragged her away.

A numbness settled in Celeste as the images flooded her mind of what he had likely tried to do to her sister, had tried to force upon her for his own desires of the flesh.

His own selfish desires and will to spite Celeste for what she had refused him years prior.

She heard Gandriel's sharp intake of breath behind her, the pieces assembling rapidly in his mind.

Dropping the torn fabric Celeste set off down the trail more rapidly now, her heart now bleating in fear of where that tinge of blood was coming from. If Lukas had laid a hand on Anelisse-

If he had harmed her sister Celeste would burn the world down to destroy him, ripping him limb from limb before destroying herself, because without Anelisse she had—

Nothing.

The cold truth sank into Celeste like the rain soaking her as she wound down the path of scuffed leaves and gouged earth, heading steeply into a ravine now roaring with rainwater. She paused, straining her eyes for the nearest sign of her sister, then nearly sent herself tumbling when her foot suddenly connected with something solid, half hidden in the leaves and rapidly gathering darkness.

She caught herself on a tree to keep from nosediving, turning to see what she'd tripped on only to be met with a muffled yelp from Gandriel. "By the Mother . . ."

Glancing down, Celeste drew in a sharp breath when she saw what lay before her, her world freezing and sharpening into a clarity as she knelt to examine the corpse.

The throat was a mutilated mess of flesh, as though whoever had inflicted the wound had done so with fever and vengeance. Familiar eyes glazed over in death as the mouth hung open in a silent scream.

Lukas.

He lay prone, face now splattered with mud and his hand clasped tight around what appeared to be another piece of that sky-blue dress Anelisse must have been wearing.

A panicked breath escaped Celeste's mouth as she took in the scene, new scents now entangled with the corpse and the discarded packs. Fainter, winding tracks led back to the east, towards the trail. Anelisse's scent went with them, now accompanied by steel and leather.

That was fear emanating off Lukas, sheer terror that must have chased him as the life bled from him. It only took Celeste a few moments for the last of the pieces to settle in.

"The slavers they were traveling with must have heard the yelling," Gandriel offered quietly, staring blankly at the wound on Lukas's neck, gaping toward the canopy like the maw of some monster. "So much for business partners."

Celeste stood, slipping the scrap of fabric from Lukas's hand and tucking it into her pack. "His days were always numbered. Anelisse is worth far more to them than he ever was."

"Too bad they got him first." The male dealt a solid kick to the corpse, a wet squelch sounding as he retracted his foot, some flicker of satisfaction in his tawny eyes, "There were a lot of people who would have liked to give that finishing blow themselves, I bet. Myself included."

Celeste looked towards the fading steps that wound back towards the path. "They must have taken her to Rainfelle with the others," she said a bit breathlessly, the blind panic fading as the idea of her sister being sold as a slave came upon her like an anvil. "We've got to get to her now."

Celeste shot off into the darkness like a shadow, following the trail like a lifeline.

Gandriel gave one last solid kick to Lukas's prone form before scampering off through the darkness after Celeste.

* * *

The murky lamplights from the inn's windows filtered through the sheets of rain to illuminate the cracked cobblestone road outside where Celeste and Gandriel stood, watching the old wooden sign creak to and fro in the wind.

Cloudhaven Inn.

It was as slimy and rundown as the sea captain had portrayed it, down to the smell of urine still permeating the air despite the continuous downpour and the sensuous but unconvincing moans of courtesans serving their clientele for the night in the rooms above.

"Well, this seems to be the place," Gandriel supplied, curling his lip in disgust as he looked up towards the windows from where the rather forced cries of pleasure were echoing. Desires of the flesh were just that to the male, as natural as breathing and as normal, but to have to make such ridiculous sounds while tending to those needs . . . it was preposterous.

Likely as preposterous as the moronic, drooling fools who were taking pleasure in such falsehoods. It seemed more logical to just sell bread or something more mundane for a livelihood than to have that embarrassment.

He shook his head, refocusing his thoughts on the task at hand before looking towards Celeste. She'd grown silent in their final leg of the journey to Rainfelle. As they'd ventured on the path away from Lukas's corpse they had found various small scraps of that sky-blue fabric, shredded to bits, cast intermittently along the trail like breadcrumbs.

Anelisse had gambled on someone coming after her and the others and had the foresight to leave signs.

It had spurred Celeste into a frenzy, her pace quickening with each small scrap of fabric she came across.

She'd only stopped briefly to pull out the map, to confirm their destination against the trail of frayed cloth, the weight of sister's capture evident in her eyes.

Gandriel couldn't say he'd been upset to see that worthless shell of a human male Lukas dead, though he would have liked to have gutted him himself he thought, as his mind flickered to that small soot-covered doll still tucked safety in his pack, but to see Celeste's worry . . . he was glad they were nearly there.

They just had to make sure they got to Anelisse first, before she was sold off or . . . worse.

"Wait here," Celeste muttered, pulling her hood up further over her soaked locks and turning her attention towards the boisterous noises sounding from the windows, patrons no doubt taking part in revelry for whatever reason that evening. Bawdy tunes echoed into the dark night. "Fallon said they're likely keeping everyone in outbuildings to drive down suspicions, I want to look around and see what I can find."

"And you want me to just stand here?" Gandriel inquired disbelievingly, quirking his head to the side, "What good is that going to do either of us?"

"Keep an eye out," she hissed in response, sliding one of the daggers he'd given her in Marchedor loose, its surface reflecting the murky lanternlight. "Make sure no one follows after and see if you can put that fae hearing of yours to use." Never mind she also had fae hearing—

Celeste glanced briefly towards the inn once more, her brow furrowing in thought, "I doubt they're sharing this little trade business openly, but someone's bound to have a loose tongue."

"And if you get into trouble?" Gandriel retorted, annoyed at being left as a watchdog, hadn't Fallon warned them to be careful? To, he didn't know, stick together? "How am I supposed to come find you then?" She'd already begun to walk away.

"If you hear screaming," she called back drily, her voice barely audible over the rain and lingering moans, "you should probably run that way."

Gandriel snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against a lamppost.

He wasn't the least bit surprised.

* * *

Celeste wove her way through the alleyways surrounding the seedy inn, carefully marking the points where the tight paths crossed one another and where hollow, crumbling buildings barely stood against the pounding rain.

 _Always have an alternative escape route_ , a foggy voice at the back of her mind lectured, one she had long since put to rest. _Know where you are, the path that got you in, and all of the paths that can get you out._

There had been no tracks, no remaining scents in the heavy downpour of the rain that hadn't ceased in the remainder of their travel to Rainefelle, only the small scraps of fabric Anelisse had torn from her dress and carefully left behind.

The remained of the journey had twined through an isolated path with heavily wooded mountains where the weather covered tracks nearly as quickly as they were made . . . an innovative way to move live cargo without getting caught indeed. Too bad her sister was smart enough to plan for that.

A bright pulse of lightning flared overhead as the buildings shuddered with the sound, quaking in their fragile bases.

What had likely once been an array of beautiful brick building and a brimming, rich community, were now nothing more than towering shells of times long past. Times before the Queen of this land had laid waste to her own people in the face of their defiance, Gandriel had told her in the night aboard the Siren days prior.

A Queen whose face and body had withered like a crone's when exposed to the magical waters of the fabled Cauldron. She had been gifted immortality by the kingdom of Hybern, but at a cost.

In her rage she'd demolished everything in her path, wiping countless lives off the earth just to quell her fury at what had been stripped from her.

All fae sympathizers had been executed, without fair trial and without mercy.

Many innocents had died in the onslaught.

It had only been when she'd faced down the legendary warrior Jurian and the firebird queen Vassa that her rampage and treachery had been put to an end. They'd faced her forces with a host of human and fae soldiers alike and had effectively seized her throne.

All those who contested for the title had yielded to the might of Vassa and sworn their allegiance to her.

War had finally ceased in the kingdom thereafter and another Queen, young and untried but kind of heart had been selected to replace her.

Peace had reigned in these lands since.

Other kingdoms and territories had not been as lucky.

Celeste knew that the Wall had fallen over a hundred years prior but she had never realized the extent of the damage, the riots and civil uprisings that many of the lands had faced—many humans had wanted to make peace and trade with the fae north of them and just as many wanted to raise forces to drive them back, to keep them from entering their lands.

It had been turmoil and many lives had been lost, despite countless negotiations and peace treaties, despite the efforts many had put forth to quell the unrest.

Many fae had tried to negotiate for peace between the territories—Gandriel's mother having been an ambassador amongst them representing the reigning houses of Monteserre—but even with those efforts and leaps and bounds of improvement the ties were still strained.

Especially with the disappearance of fae and humans alike due to the slavers. With the Wall fallen, these scavengers had gained the freedom to move between the fae and human lands, picking off those who were weak, alone, or naïve enough to fall into their clutches.

Celeste wondered just what it would take to bring it to an end.

Turning around a corner and lost in thought, Celeste barely noticed the small shred of that now-familiar blue fabric sticking out of the corner of broken door, barely hanging on its hinges. Stopping in her tracks, she reached out a tentative hand and pulled the piece loose. Tossing it to the side, she wasted no time in shoving the door open with ease, the other side barricaded with high crates and barrels, something that might have served as a deterrent to one without immortal strength. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside the roofless building.

Celeste's fae eyes adjusted easily to the deeper darkness inside, but she could still discern only a few angular shapes in the room, likely more empty crates. The building appeared abandoned, the night hiding any potential tracks on the dirty floor. She took a few tentative steps forward, eyes and ears straining for anything out of the ordinary, when she felt it - the slight shift of wood beneath her feet.

She fell to her knees and began running her hands over the splintered floorboards, prying for any loose bits or seams—

Her fingers came into contact with a cleverly hidden seam, barely discernible. Pulling her knife loose she drove it into the seam and pried the wooden panel upwards. It came loose with a small click and easily lifted, revealing an array of cobwebs and descending steps.

A draft of musty air hit Celeste's nose, laced with numerous scents, but one immediately stood out - lavender and vanilla.

Anelisse.


	22. The Tunnels

_**Author's Note: So updates will so slow down significantly after this chapter (I'm hoping to have chapters up once a week here after) which I do apologize for! Also! Please be aware this chapter contains a bit of sensitive material with implied attempted rape—it's very brief this is the trigger warning.**_

Gandriel refrained from rolling his eyes from the umpteenth time as he listened to the drunk patrons nearest the window throw sloppy compliments to the busty waitress serving them, for the twelfth time since his arrival, bidding she join them in their chambers later.

The lady, wise as she were, declined the offer once again.

The male was glad there seemed to be someone with at least a shred of dignity in this delightful slum. He adjusted his position against pillar of the inn nearest the window but just out of sight, the rain having already numbed his soaked limbs.

The weight of what had happened in Vanica had lightened a bit after seeing Lukas's dead body, another monster effectively purged from the world and unable to touch the innocent again.

He still wished he'd been have able to be the one to gut him.

Gandriel tried not to let his mind wander to the scrap of blue fabric, clearly ripped from the bust, that had been clasped in the foul male's hand upon finding his rain swollen corpse. He gritted his teeth as the thought of what the male had tried to force upon Celeste's sister danced through his mind.

Anyone with such foul intentions deserved their throat slit and he would be happy to take the mantle of doing it to any idiotic soul himself.

Fortunately they'd found Lukas with his pants still securely clasped about his waist, his advances halted by his death before he'd ever gotten that far.

He'd have to remember to thank whatever slaver had taken it upon themselves to spare the young girl from that fate. That was if they didn't try to kill him first.

He doubted they were very pleased with his and Celeste's little incident with the Queen's Dame, assuming any of those sailors had survived the storm. He probably should have thought it through more.

A loud, gnarly cry of 'delight' echoed from the window above followed by a gravelly bark of satisfaction from the male who'd just achieved his completion.

Gandriel nestled down further in his cloak, glowering in annoyance.

What he'd give to have a nice dry, warm bed and a lovely female to keep him company. Mother knew she wouldn't have to fake her pleasure.

Especially now that he wasn't ensnared to that woman . . . thing he'd so foolishly bargained with.

Another thing he hadn't exactly planned.

He hoped she'd enjoyed the little note he'd left her in his scramble from his apartment, a small farewell to the most foolish bargain he'd ever made.

He shook the thought from his mind, digging his hands into his pockets. There were other more pressing matters at hand that needed to be dealt with other than his discomfort and desires.

He'd been unsuccessful in fishing out any relevant information regarding the whereabouts of the slavers or their cargo, only gaining bits of pieces here and there concerning shipments of spirits and outgoing loads of supplies.

He had, however, been privy to a delightfully detailed and exciting tale of a young scout regarding some discarded wide-mouthed glass bottles and some sleazily detailed novels. Apparently, it had taken three men to rescue the poor fool from his predicament. Gandriel had nearly lost his composure at the tale.

Glancing around, the male wondered where Celeste had slipped off to and if she'd managed to find anything. It had been nearly an hour since her departure and a feeling of unease was beginning to settle in his gut.

It was the next cat-like screech from the rooms above that set Gandriel into motion, ending off his vigil at the side of the tavern as he made his way after where Celeste had disappeared into the darkness.

Surely there was something more useful he could be doing without having to bear witness to that, and he was willing to risk Celeste's wrath to flee it.

Shoving his hands into his pockets beneath his cloak, Gandriel turned the corner farthest from the Inn, down the same alley his companion had vanished into, intending to do his own bit of investigating to see what or who he could find.

* * *

Celeste wound through the array of underground tunnels, twisting and turning in a labyrinth designed to confuse those who didn't know the way.

However, with the scent of Anelisse to guide her Celeste navigated the passages with expertise. She turned left, and then right, and then left again. Whoever had designed these tunnels had clearly intended to keep outsiders as just that, out.

She moved quietly, blending easily into the shadows, the darkness a cool, familiar presence at her back as she wound down deep into the earth. Cobwebs glistened in the faint traces of light from torches placed sporadically throughout the tunnels in spots that would most certainly lead someone astray if they were to follow them.

But Anelisse's scent curved down a narrow, dark, corridor, the other scents of people trailing off and disappearing down another long, tapered hallway to the left.

The dagger into Celeste's hand was a comforting weight - while she'd never had the formal training that would have been her salvation in a fight, she remembered enough to know how to down a surprised opponent and get loose.

It wasn't as much as she would have hoped for, but it would have to do.

No sound emanated from the corridor, only the faint dripping of water trickling down from the upper levels. Celeste immediately tightened her body, especially as Anelisse's scent grew stronger but only silence reigned, an unsettling combination.

Fallon had warned that the slavers were tricky and that she would be wise to keep her eyes sharp.

It was a trap, she realized as she slowed to a crawl, her body poised to spring as she took on a defensive stance. Such silence could only mean that someone or something was waiting for her approach. Brandishing the dagger, Celeste crossed the last few feet of the tunnel and tucked herself into the shadow beside the archway gaping before her.

Anelisse's scent was near smothering here, interwoven with the now-familiar crisp scent of blood.

A cascade of terror raced through Celeste as she thought to what they might have done to her sister. She tightened her grip on the dagger as she eased to the side of the large room and listened.

Only faint trickles of torchlight illuminated the dark room filled with more barrels and boxes. On the floor two limp figures lay, pools of blood seeping into the packed dirt beneath them.

The scent was full of degrade and age, mortal blood.

But not the scent of Anelisse, the thick liquid pooling around the two prone figures didn't belong to her. Upon cautious closer inspection, Celeste saw both had slit throats, similar to way Lukas's had been cut wide open.

Confusion struck her as she ventured further into the room, noticing the two bodies were indeed both mortal men, clothed in battered but intact iron armor, their swords still safety secured in their scabbards.

A slight rustle of fabric caught her attention, directly to her left. Purely on instinct, she turned rapidly on her heel, pressing the blade in her hand flush against the throat of her assailant. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt the cool metal of a dagger settle against her own throat at the same instant.

"Don't move." The voice was high and soft but the dagger at her throat was anything but. Silver eyes narrowed dangerously at her and pale locks fell about the woman's head from what had likely been a ridiculous updo, her once-blue dress shredded to bits and stained with dark splotches.

It took Celeste only a fraction of a moment to realize who was holding the dagger against her throat before she immediately released her grip on her own knife and dropped her arm.

"Anelisse?" she breathed, going still as that dagger pressed against her throat. She glanced at it - the handle was golden and jeweled and engraved with the Pennington House crest. Lukas's dagger. "You're alive, you're in one piece-"

A choked sound of recognition came out of her sister's mouth as that cold steel in her eyes melted away to soft silver. She dropped the dagger immediately, a dull thud sounding as it fell to the damp dirt floor.

". . . Celeste?" she inquired, her whole frame shaking as she watched Celeste reach slowly up to her hood and pull it back, raven braid falling loose and draping over her soaked shoulder.

"It's just me, Anelisse, it's okay—"

A solid warmth immediately slammed into her, clinging with a fierceness that made Celeste's heart twang painfully. She wrapped her arms just as tightly around her sister, relief flooding through her as they held each other. She was fine, Anelisse was fine-

"You're okay!" Anelisse cried, her arms still tight around Celeste, warm tears trickling out of her eyes and onto Celeste's shoulder as she held her close, sobs wracking her body. "Oh, by the Mother, thank the stars, I didn't know how I was going to get to you—a-a-after they bound you and took you." She gave another sob and dug her fingers into Celeste's shoulders, as though to confirm she was really there. "Then Lukas came and I couldn't get away, I couldn't come after you-"

"Shhh, it's all right," Celeste comforted, her own eyes slick with moisture, her stomach knotting at the thought of Anelisse coming after her, trying to get her.

She pulled back from her sister and glanced her over, noticing just how extensive the bloodstains were on her dress— "Are you hurt?" She immediately reached for the bloodiest part of the dress. If she was bleeding that severely . . . "Let me see—you need to be tended to-"

Anelisse gripped Celeste's wrist, stopping her evaluation. "Celeste, I'm fine, this isn't my blood." She glanced sidelong at the two prone forms on the ground, as though she just remembered them. Her cheeks flared red even in the darkness of the room. ". . . I didn't realize necks bled so violently."

A tendril of surprise flitted through Celeste as she followed her sister's gaze toward the dead men, the scene beginning to come to life before her. "You killed them?" Celeste looked towards Anelisse who only nodded her head, her eyes sharp as she stared at the dead slavers. Celeste's eyes caught on the gold glint of the discarded dagger on the ground. ". . . With Lukas's dagger."

"They didn't see me steal it away from him, they didn't see me tuck it into my dress," Anelisse murmured, her eyes lost in memory as she looked at the discarded dagger on the ground, the gaudy gold and jewels flickering in the faint torchlight. "They only took the other one covered in blood away. They brought me down here to wait for auction, apparently some sea captain had his eye on me and I was to be separated from the others." A rare hiss of annoyance. "I knew I didn't have much time, so I just acted."

"Anelisse," Celeste fixed her eyes on her face, something like awe racing through her, "we found Lukas's body on the way inland, with scraps of your dress near him and scattered on the road coming here." Indeed, her sister's dress had been torn across the chest, revealing the delicate corset and petticoat beneath. Hot, fiery rage tore through her. "Who killed Lukas?"

Those silver eyes fixed on Celeste and without an ounce of remorse Anelisse said, "I did." Shock shot through Celeste as she thought back on Lukas's gruesomely split throat, gaping towards the sky. A wound that looked like it had been given with vengeance . . .

The blonde bent over and scooped up the knife swiftly, the object sitting awkwardly in her palm. "For what he did to Vanica, for what he did me, what he tried to take." Her voice lowered to a near whisper as she looked at the knife in her hands. "And for what he tried to do to you all those years ago."

Anelisse turned towards Celeste, a ferocity in her eyes that Celeste hadn't known she was capable of.

"I know you hid it," she shook her head, as though shaking off a daze or trance. "I know why you did, but I knew, Celeste. Knew why you came home with torn clothes, why Lukas's neck and shoulder had to be patched for weeks, where those scars came from." Silver gleamed with torchlight as she met her gaze again. "You should have finished it then, though I took delight in taking that little piece of vengeance out of his hide myself."

Celeste was at a loss for words, for the emotions racing through her at the memory of one Lukas Pennington pinning her eighteen-year-old self against a tree, trying to force himself upon her as she thrashed against his bigger body, fear and anger flitting through her.

* * *

 _"Be still, love," Lukas murmured as he dug his hands into Celeste's thin forearms he had pinned above her head, palms slick with sweat. "You'll only make this worse on yourself."_

 _Blind fury and panic raced through her, sharpening her senses as she nearly bleated with the older boy upon her, his free hand groping at her, the other pinning her against the rough oak. His hot mouth slammed into hers as he forced his tongue inside, heated and claiming._

 _A numbness traced through her as her limbs froze in place, fear rooting her to the spot. He'd been upon her before she could react, her body frozen in surprise and fear._

 _She hadn't sensed him pursuing her, trotting behind her at a leisurely pace like a predator stalking his prey._

 _Lukas had been following her trying to befriend her since her arrival on the island, especially so since she'd taken to gutting fishes at the docks. He'd taken to spending his afternoons trotting after his father and cooing his affections to a usually blood-covered Celeste._

 _She'd blatantly ignored him._

 _Adder had made a habit of walking her home in the evenings, shooting wary looks at the older boy as he leered at her day in and day out._

 _She'd foolishly declined Adder's offer to walk her home this evening, her anger snapping at the old man for coddling her, she'd insisted she'd be fine on her own._

 _An action she fully regretted._

 _She felt his free hand snake up beneath her shirt, grazing over the tender skin on her abdomen, exploring and searching, gliding over her sensitive breasts. Wrong, wrong, wrong._

 _He squeezed once and Celeste gasped, horror racing through her._

 _His tongue shoved deeper into her mouth as he pressed against her, the length of him hardening against her soft pelvis—he intended to take her here and there was no one to save her, to help her—Anidre and Anelisse were at home._

 _She could strike him, shove him off—but at what cost? What would be the punishment for the local hated fae for hurting the almost-prince of the island? She couldn't risk Anidre, couldn't risk Anelisse, the fallout-_

 _She was helpless, she couldn't stop this—_

 _You're never helpless, a voice filtered through her mind, grounding her. Never let yourself be helpless, fight back always-_

 _A shot of bright white fury burned through Celeste as Lukas toyed with the belt at her waist, reaching beneath the concealing fabric. She struck before he knew what hit him._

 _She headbutted the boy square in the nose, a snarl of fury escaping her lips._

 _He grunted in pain but kept his grip, his mouth hooking on hers once more._

 _She shoved against the older boy, her arms pushing and flailing as she tried to unpin herself, unhinging his mouth from her own. She was significantly smaller, frailer from being near starvation, but her strength was still superior to his own._

 _She dislodged the boy and, with one well-placed slash of her nails, sent him reeling backwards, blood spurting in a torrent from his torn neck and chest._

 _Gulping down torrents of oxygen Celeste snarled at the grounded boy, her hands curling menacingly. She'd been hurt once before, unable to protect herself and helpless to her plight, but no more. She'd kill Lukas before he touched her again._

 _"Monster," Lukas hissed, his eyes wide and scent flooded with fear. He scrambled away from her. "You're a monster, nothing but a monster." He launched to his feet, shaking as blood pooled down the length of his shirt before he raced off away from her._

 _She'd slid down against the oak upon his departure, her arms wrapped about herself. She was hated enough on this island as it were, but she couldn't let him take that, consequences be damned._

 _She'd be lucky if they didn't hunt her down for what she'd done to him. Lucky if they didn't go after Anidre and Anelisse-_

* * *

The memory stopped as quickly as it began.

She settled for saying, "Good."

"I thought you'd approve," Anelisse's grim smile melted away into the soft expression Celeste was so familiar with. "And to think I really liked this dress, too," She swished the skirt, its bulk rustling. "Well, the color at least."

For the first time in weeks, Celeste felt a genuine laugh escape her lips. The sound caught Anelisse's attention and she beamed back gleefully.

"Lukas Pennington's tastes were as awful as his personality." She shook her head. "When I'm actually wed I fully intend to be garbed in something much less gaudy and tasteless."

"I hope the same," Celeste replied, looking at the hideously puffed gown, tight in the bodice and billowing around Anelisse's muddy legs. "Hopefully any man you'll marry will have infinitely better taste and looks."

"Night-black hair," the blonde proclaimed suddenly, tapping her chin in thought. "I've had enough of blondes to last me a lifetime."

They both chuckled softly, a small piece of normalcy falling between the two girls before they paused in silence.

"So now what?" Anelisse asked, looking around her as she shuffled back closer to Celeste's side, tucking the dagger somewhere into the folds of her shredded skirt. "Do we just leave? They've taken so many people. Many of the folks from Vanica are ones we knew." She brushed a loose curl back behind her ear. "People that were kind to us. They have Pennelope and her husband, as well as Layla, James and Marrien."

Celeste thought to the little girl who she'd saved from the water, the sweet-faced child who had barely escaped the clutches of death to now be thrown into a far worse fate.

She had her answer.

"I'm going to get you to Gandriel," a quirk of a thin ash-colored brow at the mention of the male, "and have him take you back to the Siren. I need to find the others." Celeste said, thinking back on the diverging scent she'd found in the corridor earlier. "I can't just leave them here."

"Excuse me?" Anelisse snapped, her eyes flaring, "You expect me to go with this Gandriel—someone I don't know - while you go chasing slavers all willy-nilly alone? I think not."

"Anelisse, this isn't up for discussion." Celeste turned to begin her trek back down the tunnel, following her own scent back through the labyrinth. Hopefully Gandriel had kept his post-

"Oh, I do believe it is," her sister snapped back, stepping quickly in front of Celeste, arms crossed over her chest. "If you think for one minute I'm going to let you run into this headlong without me after just getting you back—without knowing when or how you got free, by the way," a pointed look from the delicate girl, "you're going to be sorely mistaken."

"I came here to save you," Celeste retorted, "and you getting out is my main priority. I will figure out a way to get everyone else out, but I will not risk you."

"And I won't risk you." There was finality in her eyes.

So against her better judgement Celeste just sighed before conceding, "At least stay close and try not to make too much noise."

Anelisse gasped in mock offense, then hissed, loudly, in response, " _I'm_ not the loud one, need I remind you."

* * *

The scents of the other slaves were still strong as Celeste and Anelisse trailed them through another array of winding tunnels, these broader and more adequately lit.

"They really weren't intending to let you go, were they?" Celeste murmured as she followed the much more obvious trail of the other slaves, "Considering the lengths they took to hide you down there."

"Apparently the Captain has a thing about delicate women." Anelisse wrinkled her nose as she stepped around a patch of mud, her previously bulky dress now a fraction its size from where she'd shredded those ridiculous skirts, "and since I no longer belong to Lukas, what a prize to be gained! And they didn't even have to kill him. A win-win for them."

Celeste still hadn't processed that Anelisse had been the one to slit Lukas's throat, her sweet delicate sister with painters' hands.

"Remind me to never piss you off again," she muttered, checking around a corner to ensure it was clear for her and Anelisse to move. "Though on second thought it might be nice to let you loose on Gandriel."

"This Gandriel," Anelisse replied glancing around as she followed on near silent feet behind Celeste, "who is he?"

"Let's just say he's a . . . comrade," Celeste wasn't willing to go so far as the call the idiot male a friend. "He came here with me to help me find you. He's the one that freed me from the slave ship." Not to mention he almost got me killed in a tomb full of wights, she thought drily. She could explain the whole story to Anelisse later when everyone was safe.

"Well, he can't be that bad if he helped you." Anelisse responded, a hint of gratitude in her voice at the mention of Gandriel's "rescue."

"Oh, he can be." Celeste hoped the idiot male was still where she had left him against the inn, gleaning information from the noisy patrons. "But he's served his purpose."

A small breathy laugh from her sister. ". . . Is he cute at least?"

Celeste only smirked, refusing to respond.

"Killjoy," Anelisse pouted.

They fell into silence as they cleared several more tunnels, small trickles of soft conversation beginning to echo down the corridors.

Celeste cleared the corridor before motioning for Anelisse to follow.

The blonde quickly glanced to and fro made to move across the crossway in the corridor when she slammed into a tall male figure who stepped suddenly out of the shadow, her small body colliding with his.

* * *

Gandriel had been wandering these damned tunnels for what felt like hours.

He had followed Celeste's scent to an abandoned warehouse and down into the depths of this hellish labyrinth when a small pale bundle of blue slammed straight into him.

He instinctively reached out to catch the figure, a slim lithe female, her silvery hair damp and plastered to her pale neck and face. As she upturned her face she revealed large, pale silver eyes set into a delicate face, ethereally beautiful. So beautiful Gandriel had to blink twice, barely registering the rounded ears poking through her hair.

He couldn't resist the charming smile that immediately graced his lips. Pretty women were something he could do.

"Well, hello there beautiful," Gandriel supplied lazily, righting the small woman who had gone stiff in his grasp, no doubt running away from whatever slaver trash was likely pursuing her. "Don't be afraid, I'll protect you."

That beautiful face twisted in contempt though as she beheld him, recognition flaring as her eyes narrowed and she spat with venom, "You."

And, quicker than any mortal had the right to move, she kneed him square in the crotch sending blinding pain tearing through him. He nearly crumpled to the floor as she ripped herself free of his hold and dashed off around him, the remnants of her gaudy gown dragging behind her.

Gandriel turned his attention to the small woman who now stood behind him, brandishing a dagger.

"You're the bastard who helped take my sister," the girl hissed, throwing a hand out to protect the woman behind her. Blinking through the pain, Gandriel immediately recognized Celeste, who raised an eyebrow as her violet eyes lit with amusement. "I'll slit your throat for what you did-"

"Sweet, Anelisse," Celeste said, stepping around the assailant who Gandriel now registered as the missing sister, "but unnecessary. Anelisse, Gandriel." Celeste motioned between the two. "Gandriel, Anelisse."

"What is it with you women?" he ground through his teeth, the stars in his vision beginning to fade. "Couldn't you settle for punching me in the face? Or, I don't know, kicking me anywhere other than down there-"

"You're with him?" Anelisse hissed at Celeste, her eyes narrowing. "He's one of the ones who was on the boat when they took you! I saw him."

"He's also the one who got me out," she replied coolly, looking far too amused at Gandriel's crumpled form clinging to the wall. Fine, he deserved it. "And didn't I tell you to wait by the Inn?"

"If I had to hear one more fake moan," Gandriel grumbled, slowly easing away from the wall, "I was going to have to go up there and show them how it was done properly." Celeste wrinkled her nose in disgust at the comment. "So I decided I'd come help you on this little scavenger hunt. Though it seems like you found her just fine."

"No thanks to you," Anelisse snarled, her silver eyes still wary as she watched him.

He held his hands up in surrender, knowing full well that'd he'd met his match here.

"Well, pull yourself together," Celeste quipped as she turned her attention behind her, deeper into the tunnels. "We've got slaves to free."

"Oh good," Gandriel replied, trying not to look at the tiny blonde still glaring daggers through his skull, his nether region still recoiling in pain, "Things were starting to get boring after all."


	23. From the Ashes They Rise

_**Author's Note: Hi all! I'm officially back. After a month long bout of dealing with a broken computer charger, traveling for work, getting sucked into the hell of despair known as the KoA release and dealing with the holidays I've finally finished the next update. Hope you like it!**_

 _"Papa," Sleepy, star-flecked violet stared up at me, blinking blearily, "when are the lights supposed to come?" She nuzzled her face into my shoulder as her small arms wrapped about my neck. Her thick lashes fluttered against my chin, sleep beginning to weigh on her._

" _Soon," I assured Celeste, smiling as I adjusted her small weight in my arms, careful to not pull the blanket wrapped about her loose. She pulled the soft plum-colored fabric close; Azriel's birthday present that she already could not bear to be without. "Should be shortly now, stay awake for just a few more minutes."_

 _She'd lost momentum rather abruptly after her birthday party, the remnants of the overly sugary cake Nuala had oh-so-thoughtfully crafted finally dissipating from her system, leaving a significantly less energetic but now cranky child in its wake._

 _I'd have to remember to thank Nuala afterwards._

 _"Papa," she whined again, her nose scrunching in annoyance as the small freckles on her nose wrinkled, her newly earned four-year-old patience flagging rapidly, "I'm not falling asleep, I'm awake."_

 _A small round of chuckles echoed from our family watching and waiting around us, seated on the various cushions and lounges we'd hauled up for the occasion._

 _I couldn't hide my amused grin as I pulled her closer, bouncing her gently as I stood on the veranda watching the dark skies. "Of course not. My apologies."_

 _"I'm not tired," she reaffirmed, pushing away from my shoulder and looking up, squinting her eyes. "Nuh-uh."_

 _She cast a glance towards her mother, holding an equally sleepy Cenric against her hip, his face and hands buried in her dress as he swayed a little, barely on his feet._

 _"I'm not a baby anymore," she quipped, rubbing at her eyes fiercely, "Not like Cenric."_

 _"Shut up, Celeste," her brother muttered sleepily, his forehead pressed into his mother's side with his eyes closed. Feyre chuckled as she cradled our son close keeping him upright, her Starfall dress rippling in the faint light, "I'm not tired either, I'm just resting my eyes."_

" _You're falling asleep-" Celeste started, ready to pick a fight, her exhaustion flaring her temper. I opened my mouth to try and placate the argument about to ensue when a slash of light appeared out of the corner of my eye._

 _"There!" I pointed a finger, boosting Celeste up higher and tracing the path of the first spirit to appear, "There they are." For there, trickling in from the horizon like drops of dew, spirits began to crest over the mountains from the darkness, their iridescent bodies shimmering as they sliced across the indigo sky._

 _Celeste immediately perked up, violet eyes widening as she caught sight of the second streak of light dancing overhead, her face lighting up in delight._

" _Woah! So pretty!" She clambered up my shoulder, effectively elbowing me rather sharply in the face, to get to a higher vantage point. "Papa, do you see? Do you see the spirits?"_

" _I do," I assured her, adjusting her weight once more and kissing her cheek as her eyes fixed on the spirits darting past, even fewer again this year but still present and beautiful as always. "Nearly as pretty as you are."_

 _"You think so, Papa?" she murmured, the glimmering light of the spirits reflecting in her wide eyes, her attention wholly focused._

" _Yes." I smiled up at her, watching her reaction more than the spirits themselves, the way her small round face lit up and her eyebrows lifted in wonder. "They're what gave you to me, after all."_

 _A faint twinkle of remembrance flickered in Feyre's eyes as she glanced at me, a small, subtle smile curving her lips. Remembering the wish I'd made on those blooms my mother had told me story after story about, remembering the small plea I'd sent to the Mother five years ago, for one more small gift._

 _That small gift now sat perched in my arms, her small fingers clenching my jacket and pressing close. I glanced down towards my other gift, his face no longer buried in his mother's hip._

 _Cenric had finally directed his attention to skies, watching the spirits fly past, amazement in his cobalt gaze. Feyre pulled him close to her as she too gazed skyward, her eyes alight with the glimmer of the spirits._

 _All of them, all of it, a gift._

" _I wanna glow and fly, then I'd really be a fallen star." Celeste looked up at me, her face full of hope. "You'll be able to teach me to fly soon, right, Papa?"_

 _She flexed those dark wings of hers beneath her blanket, strong and limber for her age and indicative of the talent with flying she'd likely possess. "Soon they'll be big right? Big enough to fly?"_

 _I chuckled, pride swelling in my chest. "Yes, I'll be able to teach you very soon," I smoothed the silky black strands of her hair out of her face. It would only be a matter of months now before she'd be able to effectively hold her own weight while soaring, before she'd be strong enough to take off. "You'll be able to fly like those spirits very soon."_

" _And like you," she snuggled closer, the faint smell of her favorite vanilla and jasmine soap wafting from her hair, her cheek pressed flat against my own. "I want to be like you too, Papa."_

 _Something tightened before melting in my chest as I tugged her closer, kissing the feathery wisps of dark hair on her head. Whatever I had done to deserve this, I was beyond words and beyond thankful for it._

 _Celeste glanced over my shoulder back to our family spread across the couches, her nose wrinkling in the way that I knew meant trouble._

" _But not Cassian," She narrowed her eyes at the unsuspecting Illyrian who only gawked as Celeste regarded him with a look that had my lip twitching up in amusement before entirely dismissing him, flipping her hair out of the way and turning her attention back upwards towards the spirits. "Nobody wants to be like Cassian."_

 _The howling that followed echoed across the glimmering night sky of Velaris._

* * *

That memory had been engraved into the deep recesses of my mind, one that I slipped away for moments precisely like this. For moments when my fury was nearly strong enough to break free and dissolve the world to dust.

The edges of the memory curled inwards then faded as I soared high above the mountain tops, wisps of mist floating through the air. The tendrils of spring had barely begun to creep into the impenetrable cold of the Steppes, thawing through its icy core.

The cold hadn't been entirely dissipated yet though as frozen wind bit into my face as I glided around the Illyrian Peaks, Cassian banking on my right, Nesta tucked securely in his arms, headed straight for the camp where Azriel awaited our arrival.

The shadowsinger had taken off immediately after the infiltration at the House of Wind and headed for the Steppes to see who and what was brewing. He had conveyed only brief messages since his arrival, with an ever-more-pressing urge that Cassian and I should get there as soon as we were able.

Nesta, with her insufferable temper, had refused to be left behind. Had refused to not check on the females in her unit.

Something edged came in Azriel's response about bringing Nesta, that perhaps it would be wise to leave her in Velaris. This had only fueled her stubborness.

Azriel had refused to divulge any further information until our arrival, something so unlike my brother that it set my senses further on edge. We'd spent the night clearing the houses and unpinning the less-than-welcome sign across the entrance to the Riverside Estate. Neither Cassian nor I had slept.

Instead, we'd set off at the break of dawn, me winnowing Cassian, Nesta and I to the edge of the peaks a few miles outside the camps. Feyre and Mor were still with Cenric at the cabin, supposedly nursing the worst hangover of his young life.

The memory of the power that had obliterated Serys had even taken me by surprise - my son's power already rivalled my own and only grew with each passing day.

The events of the night before pressed in on me, squeezing the vulnerable part that still sent me into fits of furious rage when I thought on it.

The fact that they'd infiltrated House of Wind without my knowledge left me rattled and furious. They'd gotten past the wards, had walked straight into our home, and had effectively evaded detection from both Azriel and I, a feat in itself.

Only once in the last century had anyone so carefully slipped into Velaris without my knowledge, with devastating consequences. And now it seemed that same enemy had slipped in once again.

The air around me withered as my power flickered at the memory. Cassian cast a concerned glance in my direction at the ripple.

We'd cleared the House of Wind quickly, having found little to no evidence of any other intruders. It seemed that only Serys had come, no sneak attacks or traps evident.

It had been the wings pinned to the front of the Riverside Estate that had sent me reeling, severed wings from Serys herself, a cruel, grotesque message that rekindled fires that I had hoped had been permanently extinguished in the last decade.

There had been the occasional murmur of another rebellion rearing its head, but Azriel had always been able to shut it down quickly, quenching the flames before they were ever even more than a spark. The Steppes had been otherwise quiet, almost peaceful in the last few years as they rebuilt their warrior castes and families began to flourish once again.

Apparently not though, I thought wryly as I banked around the familiar bend, the plume of smoke and distant rustling of movement indicating the Illyrian camps, if this horseshit was rearing its hideous head again.

In the distance I could make out the forms of Azriel and Devlon facing away from one another, nearly a hundred feet apart, even in the light of all that was transpiring.

These bastards had never given my brothers an ounce of the respect they deserved. If they wanted a King so badly maybe I'd purge them all and appoint Cassian. Mother knew he'd serve his people better than their current lords and Azriel might finally get some decent sleep at night.

I was nearly too eager to oblige the idea.

I landed soundly, sending a shudder through the earth. Cassian plummeted a bit more forcefully than necessary several feet away from me, his face twisted into a lethal sort of calm as he set Nesta gently on her feet next to him. The warriors of the camp took notice, their brows lifting as they beheld their general, his wings flaring wide in agitation.

I began picking my way towards Azriel who had turned his attention towards me, his eyes flat as he watched my approach.

Delvon sent a narrowed glare and sneer at Cassian before turning his attention back to me, his dark eyes hard.

"I think it's best you see for yourself." I nodded for Devlon to lead the way, Azriel, Cassian and Nesta flanking behind me.

As we walked through the array of tents scattered throughout the camp I felt the piercing gaze of many of the females, faces blanched and tight, as we walked past. Their hands traced symbols to ward off evil as they slipped back behind the flaps of tents.

Whatever had happened could not be good.

"You've been warned, Lord," Devlon growled as he swiftly made his way up a small hill, his wings tucked in tight. "We've never seen something of this scale."

I sent a brief glance towards Azriel who kept his eyes forward, the shadows around him so dense his features weaved in and out of them as we summitted the hill that overlooked the deeply gouged valley outside of the camp.

All across the valley, strewn like scraps of fabric, were wings.

Hundreds upon hundreds of wings, flung carelessly across the dead winter grass, the red-hued membrane dull and leathery as the elements tore at them. And along the center of each of those wings, a thin line of silver: clipping scars.

Illyrian females.

Dread and disbelief tore through me, so violently that I felt the slightest tug on the bond, checking.

I couldn't even bring myself to respond as bile rose at the back of my throat.

"What in the actual fuck," Cassian ground out, lip curling with disgust as he took in the valley of discarded wings, his eyes narrowed.

Nesta remained motionless and silent, her face hard as steel.

"Cults," Azriel replied, his eyes icy as he too looked over the grotesque display. "Apparently this is their way of throwing their devotion behind their cause." The shadowsinger's pupils were so dilated his eyes were nearly black with fury. "There was a similar incident when this happened the first time but never on this scale."

"No shit, Az," Cassian hissed, instinctively putting himself between the discarded wings and Nesta, earning a hiss of annoyance from the stone-faced female, "This is completely-"

"The females," I cut in, looking at Devlon, "are they from your camp?"

"No," The general shook his head, idly scratching his chin, "all members of my camp were called out this morning, not a single female is missing their wings. I don't know how they dumped them without one of our warriors picking up on it."

"The females are spooked." He rustled his wings behind him, as though assuring himself of their presence, "I'm sure you've noticed but they've all taken to hiding in their tents, won't talk to anyone. Only those bitches calling themselves warriors have braved coming out-"

"Watch your mouth," Nesta snarled, locking her steely gaze with Devlon as her shoulders went rigid, "You don't speak of my unit that way, ever."

A familiar ache formed at my right temple as a memory of a similar stand-off from over a century ago came to front of my mind. Azriel remained stonefaced as ever.

Devlon's wings flared, a tell-tale sign of his temper spiking.

"You should know your place in this situation, witch," he hissed back, digging his boots into the mud, as a low snarl slipped from Cassian's lips. "Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of-"

"Those 'bitches' can take any of your warriors any day, so back off." Nesta's tone left no room for argument, the already frigid tempers somehow plummeting further as power rippled around us like a kiss of death.

Devlon had the good sense to at least blanch as Cassian positioned himself between the woman and the camp behind her.

To hell with him.

The Lord, wise from his first and last encounter with Nesta, only growled before turning his attention from her in dismissal.

I didn't miss the hiss in response.

"There's more this way, High Lord," Devlon grumbled, stepping around Nesta and leading us down a steep incline, "far more."

* * *

Devlon's little fit had left Nesta is a sour mood. So sour in fact that Cassian had suggested she go check on her unit before she leveled the camp and the mountain top entirely.

She was still pissed.

She stalked toward the training ring where the female warriors loitered, eyes narrowed and lips curling as they sized up every being walking past the ring.

The women trained on this mountain were deadly and ruthless and only a fool would be so careless to cross one of them. A trait Nesta had found to be bred into their very essence.

The waves of fury rippling off them had the majority of the camp's occupants keeping a good distance from the ring as they hurried past in the piercing cold.

Whoever had done this had hit female warriors hard, flaying open a box of worms they would not be happy to see.

Nesta stepped over the white markings that outlined the training field and headed for the straight-backed female with the long ponytail, her wings wide as she barked orders at the two girls sparring: fledglings who barely knew how to wield a fist, much less a blade.

Nesta watched as the two girls tussled, their forms limp. The shouting female barked again, this time a threat that immediately had the girls straightening their postures, refocusing.

Nesta didn't fail to notice the tallest girl's limp wrist or the smaller one's faltering pose, neither really trying.

A couple laps around the camp would change that.

"Look who finally deigned to join us in the midst of this hog shit," the female smirked at Nesta as she approached, her stone-grey eyes as sharp as Nesta's own. "I thought you'd taken off to go play dresses and parties for Starfall. Guess you got wind of everything."

The sparring girls immediately froze upon seeing their captain, their eyes widening as they immediately straightened and bowed, deeply, to Nesta.

She didn't smile as she jerked her head over a shoulder, a sharp dismissal that the girls did not miss. They quickly gathered themselves before fleeing the ring, their lesson cut short for the day.

"Valka," Nesta ignored the grin the woman flashed at her, her bird like features as sharp as her gaze, as she got straight to the point. "What happened?"

Nesta's second only cut her another infuriating smirk.

Valka, while young, had taken up the mantle as Nesta's second when Myrie, her former second, had decided to step down from her position to marry her husband and have children, of her own choosing. While fierce and invaluable in a fight, Valka had a penchant for violence and taunting that made the more lewd warriors look like children.

She was exactly what the Illyrian females needed, but not something Nesta was not in the mood to tolerate at the moment.

"Not entirely sure," Valka stretched one arm above her head, flaring her wings, tauntingly wider than nearly all of the males in the camp, before cocking her head with a shrug. "Some nut-bags decided to go slicey slice with their wings and dump them off in the valley in the middle of the night."

So, she wanted to play that game.

Nesta sent Valka a look that would have made any lesser being flee.

The female only grinned lazily in response, stretching her other arm above her head.

"And what about the King?" Nesta looked pointedly at Valka who shrugged again, nonchalantly dropping out of her stretch, every movement oozing with arrogance.

"I haven't seen my brother since he fled the Steppes after the duel." She reached down and picked up a dented training sword, twirling it lazily, its surface reflecting in the dull winter sun. "My bet is it's just some die-hards trying to spook the females. They're getting desperate."

Valka was also the adopted daughter of the widow who had birthed the so-called "King," a young male with enough power to flatten Ramiel and the last amongst seven children who had been born of the late lord who had fallen in the battle against Hybern.

The same male who had challenged Rhysand for his throne nearly fifteen years before. Valka had only been a tiny child at the time and had cowered behind her mothers' legs as the bloody battle had raged.

Rhysand nearly hadn't walked away from it.

"Desperate enough to infiltrate Velaris again," Nesta cut in coldly, immediately snagging Valka's attention.

The sharp-faced female lifted a brow before tossing the sword aside, the chipped blade landing with a wet squelch in the mud.

"They're insane to try it," she shook her head, crossing her arms over her ample chest. "They've already lost this battle once. Why try again?"

"That's what I'm asking you." Nesta locked eyes with her again. This time Valka did not smile.

"If you're concerned about my mother you'll be happy to know she was up at the crack of dawn sobbing her eyes out over what those females did." Valka walked away toward the sword rack, her shoulders tight. "She might have birthed my brother, but she didn't make him King."

"She gave him the bloodright."

"She chose that path as much as we choose to be female upon birth." Valka's eyes narrowed. "Her husband took her time and time again to try and breed that damned beast form, which, by the way, they never succeeded in. She's lost all of her children, let her live in peace."

"And yet he still challenged Rhysand," Nesta studied Valka as she began hanging up training swords, searching for any flash of recognition. "And yet they still stole my niece away in the night and murdered her."

"You think I don't know that?" Valka replied, eyes distant as she continued her work. "Lest you forget it was my mother who held a ceremony mourning the loss of Celeste."

"Where is he, Valka?" Nesta pressed, ignoring that last comment, "Where is your brother?"

"For the last time, Captain," she cut back coldly, wings flaring slightly, "I don't know. I've served under you for the last five years, you know my word is good."

"Your brother's words were good too when they decided to stab the Night Court in the back all those years ago," Nesta stepped forward, unwilling to bend, "Don't think your brother took any mercy when it came to trying to destroy my family."

"Don't go there," Valka hissed at Nesta. "You already killed Enalius during the Rite years ago. That idiocy came from his father, Mother wants nothing to do with any of it."

Nesta let a sigh slip through her nose and rubbed at her eyes.

"If I knew, Nesta, I'd tell you," Valka straightened and pinned her with that metallic grey stare, her eyes bright. "What involvement could we possibly have? The only ones left are Mother and I. Please, just leave her alone. She's lost enough."

Something twinged in Nesta's gut but she finally conceded, turning her attention from her second. Valka had proven to be the most loyal lieutenant she could have asked for, her relationship to her traitorous brothers was something that she couldn't be held to. She'd been too small when it happened anyway.

"Keep an eye out, Valka," Nesta said over a shoulder, her steely eyes assessing the ring around them. "If you see anything, you talk to me first."

"Even before your insufferable mate?" Valka cooed.

"Yes." Nesta began stalking across the ring, the girls who were training on the far edge finally spotting her and bowing as she exited.

Grinning again, Valka bowed once, her dark curtain of hair swinging. "Of course, Captain."


	24. Conviction

Nesta walked through the snow drifts curling along the stone path, her boots crunching on the bits of icy snow beneath her. Silent, everything was silent. Her breath billowed in the frozen air as she strode through a large array of tents, the occupants inside talking in mere, undiscernible whispers. This place was many things: miserable, backwards, full of ignorance but never was it silent. The sound of her boot clad feat crunching beneath her echoed too loudly.

Most of the females had retreated to their tents, only a few still remaining to finish up chores in the last of the evening's fading rays before rushing home. Rhys had addressed them, called them all out, females and males alike, assuring them that no female would lose their wings under his guard and protection. And that any caught cutting their wings or another's would be captured and tried for treason.

Some attempt at trying to draw them out, Nesta mused, watching the last of the watery light vanish behind the peaks. A pitiful one. How, exactly, did he plan to protect them?

He hadn't exactly done a good job protecting her niece when it had mattered most. Nor had he managed to pin down the simpering fools who'd instigated this revolt time and time again.

No, Nesta felt that her sisters' mate's words fell rather flat.

A hundred years of this, with ebbs and flows of little rebellions that were stomped out before they could grow. None had been this bad since the first and the last, the first immediately after the war. When tensions had been high over the death of warriors, Kallon and his lovely bunch had sought out to overthrow Rhys, calling forth Enalius, the towering, boorish brute who was named after the ancient famed warrior, to lead them.

Too bad he'd found his head spiked upon a wooden pike on Ramiel during the Rite that spring. Unfortunate, really, that he'd sought out Nesta as prey and instead had found himself carrion.

She almost smiled at the memory.

The last had been fifteen years prior when the so-called "king," the fledgling Silbah, youngest brother of Enalius, had challenged Rhysand and had nearly killed him before vanishing in the dead of night, never to be heard from again.

Silence had reigned since then.

Not that it changed anything, not with the cultists rising again and most trails leading to dead ends. At least the shadowsinger had made himself useful, he'd been on the hunt since Celeste's death and not even Elain's warmth had been able to thaw the ice that had encased his heart after her loss.

Any Illyrians he found with connections never walked away, and their bodies were never found. Nesta wasn't certain there was an accurate tally of how many he'd wiped from existence. Not that she minded it.

Cassian had guessed what Azriel was doing, had not entirely condoned it but had not spoken against it either, the pain in her mate's eyes clear each time the memory of that loud, bratty child was mentioned.

She toyed with the small slip of silver ribbon stitched securely on the inside of her pocket.

No, she'd been happy to hunt the traitors in secret at the shadowsinger's side and had felt nothing but satisfaction as she's washed their blood from her blades.

Not that her sisters or her mate knew.

She'd protect the females in this camp herself, by whatever means necessary.

A sliver of a memory of man cornering her flitted at the edge of her memory before she shut it away, a fragmented bit of the past when she'd felt weakness like a wound.

None of these women would feel that helplessness and terror of being unable to protect themselves.

Nesta dutifully ignored the peeking glances of the braver females who watched her walk by on their retreat home, their eyes gleaming with something akin to awe and fear.

Striding up the small incline towards the family house, she noted that an oversized bastard had planted himself firmly in the doorway, his wings tucked tight and arms crossed over his broad chest. He quirked a brow at her but she dismissed it, not in the mood for his pestering.

Her dismissal was ignored.

"I saw you and Valka were having a bit of a discussion, sweetheart," Cassian smirked from his propped position in the doorway to the house, specks of ice blowing through his hair as harsh winds carved their way through the canyon. "Seems she's utterly unfazed by this."

"She is," Nesta replied, keeping her gaze forward, ignoring the burning anger turning in her stomach. She was pissed at the world and didn't care who knew about it.

His nostrils flared.

"Not in the mood to talk?" her mate goaded, leaning down towards her, his lips pulling back in that slashing grin that fueled both her annoyance and attraction.

"I don't see how it's any of your concern." Nesta replied coolly, eyes still focused forward as she made to move around the hulking male into the warm interior. "Move, Cassian."

A hand reached out and caught her arm, gently but firmly. "Nesta," She turned her gaze to meet the hard hazel of Cassian's, his jaw tight as he looked her over, that territorial bullshit bleeding out. "Talk to me."

She stared him down, silver locking with brilliant hazel.

"No." She shook out of his hold and stepped around him, barely hearing the growl that rumbled free from his throat as she made her way inside.

"Nesta," he repeated, his footsteps lumbering behind her as she made her way toward the stairs, the fire casting the room in rich hues of orange and gold, "we're not playing this game. You can't just shut everyone out again-"

She had already hit the last step on the landing and turned towards the nearest door, prying its ancient hinges open with a creak before shutting it sharply in the face of the male at her heels.

His brazen presence would bring her no comfort tonight, not as the coldness of death lanced through her veins with every breath she took.

She heard him curse beyond the door, the sound of the wood groaning beneath his grip on the knob, debating whether he'd come in.

Nesta already knew his decision when she heard the long sigh muffled on the other side of the door. She had already begun stripping from her leathers, pulling her jacket free as his footsteps retreated.

Cassian's warmth would not melt the hoarfrost that wrapped around her soul until they were all dead.

* * *

That woman was his undoing, his salvation, and the main source of his deep frustration Cassian noted none too pleasantly as he slammed another log down and spliced through it, splinters flying in all directions.

She crawled under his skin when she got like this, so angry that she spoke to no one, becoming that pillar of unbendable steel.

He'd known from the second her eyes had landed on those wings that it'd be an absolute shit show. Had fully expected her to finally throw Devlon off a cliff just to satiate her annoyance and to potentially level a few tents for good measure.

He hadn't expecting to be on the receiving end of it.

Cassian slammed the axe into another piece of wood, his teeth gritted as he swung the blade again and again. His anger fed his focus so much that he didn't notice the rippling of shadows or his brother stepping from them beside him. Didn't notice as Azriel walked up and stopped before him, watching him work.

"Firewood?" the shadowsinger inquired in that voice like midnight, startling Cassian. The general nearly jumped before narrowing his eyes in annoyance.

"You could just announce yourself like a normal person, you know," he hissed at Azriel, dropping the axe down to his side, panting from exertion. "You're going to scare me half to death one of these days."

Azriel said nothing but glanced upwards towards the dark windows of the second level of the house, his brows furrowing, the shadows dancing around his face dark and dense.

"She's pissed, in case you were wondering," Cassian replied with sarcastic sweetness, gathering up the copious amount of wood he'd chopped in the hours since Nesta's dismissal. "Don't think I'll be sleeping anywhere but the couch tonight."

"There were more wings along the outer eastern edge," Azriel murmured, his eyes near glowing in the faint light trickling from the house as he stared off into the distance. "The final count was exactly eleven hundred and twelve."

Cassian swore as he dumped the wood onto the pile outside the door, brushing stray bits of bark from his hands. The cold air bit painfully into his exposed neck from where his hair pulled away from his face.

"The same number as the first list of casualties that was sent during the war with Hybern." Azriel continued, glancing down at his gloved fingers, cobalt siphons flashing with the promise of death. Cassian gritted his teeth in aggravation, were they were still holding onto that shit a _century_ later-

"So it's a counting game now?" He shook his head, snarling, forcing the down the swell of the killing power beginning to pool beneath his siphons. "Would they like us to remind them of how many men from other courts fell? It wasn't just our people."

"Your people." Azriel said quietly but not gently, his face set with cold death. He'd entirely sworn off his Illyrian heritage when they'd killed Celeste. Cassian hadn't tried to sway him back, had known it'd be useless. Hell, he had almost thrown his own ties away.

He ran a hand through his hair. It hadn't been until Silbah had tried to kill Rhys that his loyalties began to run thin. Until they taken the sweet-faced girl who had heckled him from the time she'd come out of her mother's womb and broken her just to spite his brother.

But somehow he found he couldn't quit fighting for them, for what blood ran through his veins. Couldn't stop fighting for the ones who were worth saving.

Even if their actions made him want to obliterate the camp, to level the mountain, to be rid of the bastards who kept tearing into the Court of Dreams.

He settled for a change of subject.

"Where's Rhys?" he inquired, lifting another large block of wood and settling it on the old stump before lifting the axe once more.

"The Hewn City," Azriel replied. Cassian nearly missed the log with his strike, shock reverberating through him. He wedged the axe into the stump and stared at the other male.

"Why?"

Azriel's face revealed nothing. "He wanted to be alone."

"So he opted to go to that shithole." Cassian rubbed at his eyes, his forehead wrinkling. "Because of course he did. Anything else completely irrational you'd like to tell me about?" He sighed, raising his head. "He told the others, didn't he? Told Feyre."

"Yes."

Cassian looked up at the stars, bright above his head, twinkling in the same way they had his entire life. His mind shifted to Cenric, to his nephew who looked so much like his father and would soon be facing the Rite in the thick of this mess.

As if reading his mind Azriel muttered, "Cenric shouldn't be taking the Rite this year."

Cassian tossed the log off the stump and sat down, clasping his hands before him. "No, he shouldn't, but is it right of us to deny it to him? We weren't exactly popular then." Not that they really were now, either.

"We had each other," Azriel reminded him, pulling his wings close as the wind picked up, slicing painfully into the sensitive membrane. "He has no one."

Cassian had no retort for this.

For Cenric had made no allies within the Illyrians, none aside from the doe-eyed girls who watched him with fluttering lashes and barely contained sighs over his "razor sharp cheekbones" as Cassian heard them whisper as they trotted past.

They wouldn't save him in the games of war.

Cassian cleared his throat. "We could retake it, you, Rhys and I." He thought back on the memories of that bloody assault on Ramiel, on the close calls they had faced together, the dangers that his nephew would be forced to face alone, his soul nearly as soft as Elain's. "We could protect Cenric and put some of these pricks in their place."

"He will not accept that," Azriel said knowingly but half-focused, his attention having flitted to the edge of camp, watching. "And he will likely die for it."

"Az," Cassian ground out, fear tightening in his chest at his brother's words, "give the kid some credit, he is training under _us_ , you know."

"Doesn't matter," the shadowsinger shook his head, bits of ice beginning to accumulate on his lashes as the night's true darkness settled in. "They will hunt him without rest. Will kill him only to spite us. He should not go." Cassian heard the unspoken words: _Now or ever_.

"He's as stubborn as his parents when it comes to what he wants," Cassian snorted. "We can't prevent what drives him in his blood, we can only prepare him for what is to come. He wants revenge."

"He's not the only one," Azriel fixed his hard gaze on Cassian, the darkness in his eyes weighing heavily on the general. "Let him hunt them outside the Rite, fuck tradition."

Cassian tried not to think on the missing Illyrians who had disappeared in droves over the last decade, over the absent bodies and empty hearths that no longer burned. Azriel had been thorough.

"We could postpone the Rite," he offered, considering. "With everything going on we could force it, make them see reason. Then Cenric would have no need to participate."

The skepticism in Azriel's face spoke enough of what he knew suggesting that would do.

"Let's at least discuss it with Rhys, with Feyre, get their input." The cold was beginning to wear even on Cassian, his hands stiff and teeth near chattering. "We're not going to let Cenric die, Az."

Azriel's shadows flickered and his attention once again shot to edge of the wood, his eyes narrowing.

"Go inside."

"Az-"

The shadowsinger vanished, the spot where he stood empty and wisps of snow curling in his absence.

Cassian only let out a heavy sigh, weariness wearing on him.

* * *

Valka was freezing her ass off as she stood at the edge of the forest, watching the general and shadowsinger exchange quiet words, agitation tightening the former's motions.

Nesta was nowhere in sight, not that she had expected her to be. Her Captain had been itching for hell when she'd found her earlier and Valka knew full well she'd likely locked herself in some remote location to cope with that monstrous temper of hers.

Too bad she wasn't expending it wiping the dipshitted males off the mountain. A couple well-placed blows and Valka would never have to hear their monotonous bragging every again.

"Cenric should not be taking the Rite this year."

She perked up at the mention of the Lord's son, the dapper blue-eyed mixed blood with those broad shoulders. The one she'd been tasked with watching.

Even she knew that the male would refuse to not participate, his thick-headedness nearly as bad as the rest of his mismatched clan. She continued to listen, straining to hear the exchange but knowing inching closer would reveal herself.

And she was, under no circumstances, to be caught. She pushed down the fear of what would happen if she were caught—no, fear would only kill her. Attention and thorough, crafty thinking would keep her safe.

Just as she'd been trained in for years, dancing that delicate line between treason and loyalty.

"We could retake it." At that, Valka stepped forward. The prospect of those three on the mountain all at once . . . it'd be a blood bath, but if she could get close enough to them, to get them alone with no watching eyes . . .

She felt the attention of the shadows shift and cursed herself, pressing her back into the tree and gritting her teeth.

She had no desire to be bled dry by the shadowsinger and she didn't doubt his intentions for a second. She suspected he'd gut a cat for hissing at him with the front he carried like a stone of vengeance.

Valka quite liked her guts where they were.

So she began to coo at the shadows, digging to that place where _he_ had taught her to dive to, to placate the darkness so that it did not seek. She felt the attention ease, their conversation still flowing easily.

". . . postpone the Rite . . ." _No_ , she thought violently, they couldn't do that, she couldn't afford for them to— she nearly hissed.

". . . We're not going to let Cenric die."

She felt it then, the rumbling of the darkness, the shadows searching, finding, targeting. She wasted no breath as she shot off into the dark, fleeing with a curse.

An amateur mistake.

* * *

Valka sat in a high tree, still out of breath after the long hours of barely evading the shadowsinger hunting her like a starved wolf in the night.

Her escape was only successful thanks to her knowledge of the land's layout, an intricate understanding that only one born and raised in these wind-swept steppes could attain. An understanding that was greater than even the shadowsingers. She'd masked her trail and planted false ones, but still had struggled to shake him. Had it not been for whatever called him off she was certain she would have been caught.

He'd finally flitted off an hour earlier, as the first thin rays of the light bled through the trees.

This shit wasn't worth risking her life for.

Once she was certain the shadowsinger was gone she slipped down from the tree, intent to head back to camp miles away when she landed before an ethereally beautiful dark-haired woman, her large eyes soft as she took in Valka.

The hair on her arms rose.

How had she found her out in the middle of the wilderness, miles and miles from camp, when the even the shadowsinger hadn't been able to pin her?

"Mother-" she began, the muscles in her wings bunching as she took in the female's lithe small frame, her clipped wings rising delicately above the cloak of tan cloth draped about her delicate shoulders. The faint remnants of the scent of bread clung to the fabric. "What are you doing out this early?"

The female adjusted the basket in her arms, full of dark red berries, ripe and leaking.

"Picking winter berries for the pre-Rite feast; I want to prepare them," she replied in that soft voice, her green eyes full of concern, such nauseating concern, as she offered out the basket to Valka. "I was wondering where you wandered off to last night."

"I went to check on my Captain," she offered casually, making no move to take the basket as she stepped back from her mother. "Seems she's angered about all of this business with the cults."

Such carefully phrased words, such dangerous territory.

"Valka," the woman chided softly, titling her head, "you know it's unwise to speak of such ill omens."

"Well, it seems like no one's pinned anyone down yet." She watched a stray berry fall from her mother's basket, its pink juices staining the snow. "It's as though they've all vanished into thin air."

"Really?" the woman hummed, contemplating. "Well, may the Mother bless their hunting." She offered out a soft, smooth hand, the hand of a female who spent her days sewing. A lady. "Let us go home."

Valka carefully avoided the outstretched hand, covered in splotches of berry juice, and began walking alongside the small female, her back stiff, warning words echoing in her mind.

She tried not to turn and look as she heard the scuttling of little feet, likely a squirrel whose reserves were running low after the winter. Tried to ignore the telltale faint chewing noises of a hungry animal before the gasping began. The horrendous screeching and retching as whatever had foolishly eaten the berry died.

"The moth berries are strongest in the last throes of winter," her mother remarked calmly, her face the perfect picture of serenity. "If they are not cooked correctly the toxin within them will kill even the hardiest of warriors. They must be prepared wisely, but when precision and caution is used, the poison burns away and the sweetest jam in Prythian is made."

Valka's throat had gone dry, the smell of death from the small creature curling at her nostrils. "Of course, Mother."

"Did you hear what happened to Serys?" Her mother clicked her tongue in distaste. "How foolish of her to challenge our High Lord like that." She shook her dark tresses and sighed, gazing skyward. "It is such a shame what happened to that poor child Celeste. May her soul rest in the warm arms of the Mother." The female smiled, looking down and catching Valka's stony gaze with deep emerald. "I love you, my sweet Valka. Forever."

Valka heard the promise in that tone, the conviction, and only stared off into the snow, the cold wind around her somehow sharper.


	25. The Hewn City

_(Rhysand)_

It was quiet, only the whispers of wind assaulting the mountain front outside seeped in, its moaning echoing through the deserted hallways like wraiths in mourning-their cries high and wailing much like the sound of discord that weaved through my own soul.

That empty, hollow dissonance that plagued my every step.

That symphony had droned through these halls for millennia, the chilling call that summoned those who reveled in darkness to come and play, to gorge themselves on the nightmares of the world and to get drunk on its cruelty, to writhe in its pleasure.

Now, those who had answered the call and dwelled in its darkness did so no longer.

I propped my elbow on my knee, resting my chin on my hand as I took in the sight before me, watching from the high throne that no longer served a ruler. Nothing more than an empty chair now.

The onyx tables, once overladen with food and drink, now sat empty, only dusty cobwebs clinging to the rims and bases of hastily discarded goblets, waving in the subtle draft of that howling wind that crept its way through the cracks of the mountain. A single unopened bottle of dark wine lay tipped on its side between the pewter dishes, fallen as though the last person who had touched it had been about to open it when they'd had dissolved into dust and gently knocked it askew.

I hadn't been to the Hewn City since that night, the night that I'd finished what had begun so many centuries before and had culminated in a vicious wound that had bled the Court of Dreams, my family, dry.

Keir had barely turned to acknowledge my presence when I'd arrived all those years ago, barely had time to register my or my family's appearance before I'd misted him and his filth into blood rain. I'd been too furious and bloodthirsty to have even enjoyed destroying them.

His poison had spread far enough and like a wound festering in a limb it was best that he was removed, quickly and efficiently, even if the need to break him again and again still thrummed through me. Part of me wished that I had savored it, had taken the time to tear him apart piece by agonizing piece, each blow a repayment for every second of agony and fear my daughter had suffered through in her final moments.

The image of her broken, mutilated wings rose to the front of my mind, the snapped sinew and delicate membrane shredded like thin paper.

Darkness rumbled through the court and into the mountain below as my temper rolled, this accursed place a taunting reminder of those who had hurt those I loved the most time and time again.

The distant memory of an iron nail puncturing a womb and a note flashed through my mind alongside the delicate face and vibrant violet eyes that I had cherished above all else.

I barely felt the droplets as they dripped to my pants, speckling dark patches across the fabric.

I should have never bargained with them, should have never granted him access to my home. Mor had known that his presence would eventually poison Velaris, would eventually taint what she and I both loved most.

We could have never known it would be such a vital part. That the cruel, conniving bastard would bargain with my mother's people to strike where it would hurt most. The prick had covered his tracks well, too, so well that had it not been for the loose-tongued woman from the Hewn City it might have taken us years to track it back to him.

Fortunately, she'd offered up everything without an ounce of resistance, whether from fear or guilt I still wasn't certain.

My hands clamped down on the chair's edge, knuckles white as I looked at the empty court before me once more.

I could destroy it, bring it down entirely, eradicate this chasm of sorrow and hatred that had no place in my court or my existence.

My thoughts turned Feyre, on the night that we'd first played that game together here before them, when she had played a pet and not her true role, my equal and my High Lady. A time that almost seemed a different life now, a time when things had not been as clear as they were now.

She had refused to set foot in this place since its downfall.

I wasn't entirely sure why I had come here myself, I realized, loosening my grip on the throne, idly brushing my knuckles across the smooth stone.

A sigh slipped through my lips as I lowered my leg and braced my elbows on my knees. The events of the last days flitted through my mind in a whirlwind, the image of discarded wings burned into my memory.

All of it because of who I was, of what I chose. I tried not to think on the horror that had flashed across my mate and son's faces when I had told them.

* * *

 _"They did_ what _?" Cenric hissed from his seat on the couch between his mother and Mor, eyes narrowing as his hands bunched into fists at his sides. He'd recovered quickly from his bout of inebriation and ensuing misery that had followed. They'd returned to the Riverside Estate only a few hours before_

 _"They cut their wings and discarded them," I repeated, the words like ash in my mouth. "Azriel is currently looking for leads regarding where all of these wingless females could have gone." And my brother was no closer to finding them either._

 _"Females?" Feyre inquired, leaning forward a bit. "All of them?" Mor's eyebrow quirked upwards at my mate's comment._

 _"Yes," I confirmed, shaking my head in an attempt to wrestle down the throbbing pain echoing at my temple. "Every set of wings had a clipping scar. Old scars." Old scars from old females who hadn't been spared the Illyrians' backwards ways._

 _"Is this some sick joke to them-?" Cenric hissed, a sudden pulse of that dark power echoing like a phantom in the room, brushing against my senses and sending the birds that had been sitting on the roof fluttering._

 _"Easy, Cenric," Feyre murmured to him, laying her hand on his shoulder as a quiver of fury thrummed through him, her own eyes shadowed. "Breathe."_

 _"How dare they?" his growled, running his hands furiously through his eternally messy hair, "This has to end. I have to end this," Cenric rose from the couch, cobalt eyes glowing like fire. "I need to go back to training." His eyes locked with my own, fury furrowing his brow. "We start training now."_

 _I opened my mouth to give my confirmation when my mate cut in, perhaps more coldly than she intended, "Should you be taking the Rite at all?"_

 _I felt the sting of the words as they left her lips and tried not to wince too visibly as I saw Cenric's shoulders go rigid. Mor found a flowery pattern on the carpet suddenly fascinating._

 _Feyre folded her hands in her lap as she chewed absentmindedly on her lip, the only obvious sign of her agitation. "Given the current situation, maybe it would be better to postpone this until next spring-"_

 _"No." The word was cold and forward, laced with a tone that Cenric had never used with his mother._

 _To deny him the Rite would only add insult to injury, no matter the state of the current affairs. Even if taking it would be near suicide for our son._

 _Feyre, I spoke gently down the bond, a bit of warning in the word, don't force this. Even if I was inclined to agree with her, worry knotting my shoulders. I suddenly became starkly aware that the Rite was only a few weeks away._

 _She cast her gaze towards me, her eyes beginning to fill with that deep raw panic I so often glimpsed on her face when she woke from nightmares about Celeste._

 _"There is no shame in postponing," Feyre offered, her tone laced with her poorly hidden worry, "wait until next spring, give us time to sort this out."_

 _"So they can mark me for a coward? Absolutely not," Cenric shot back, his eyes burning like cobalt fire as he threw a hand out in agitation, "they already think I'm weak, that we're weak, why do you think they're pushing us the way they are?" his lips curled back from his teeth in a snarl, "they're trying to scare us, to set us off kilter, this is exactly what they want."_

 _"Their games are not worth your life Cenric!" Feyre snapped back, "I won't let them take both of my children, I_ will not _let you do this-"_

 _I saw the mistake Feyre made as soon as the words left her mouth and magic snapped through the house so cold that ice skittering across the windows, stopping Feyre mid-sentence._

 _Cenric had gone ramrod still._

 _He leveled his gaze at his mother._

 _"You will not make me do anything," he growled low and slowly in response, "This has to be stopped and I will not tuck my tail and run from this like the coward you want me to play. Stop trying to protect me."_

 _Feyre froze as his harsh words rang throughout the room as I tried to hide my flinch, it was like salt being poured into an open wound._

 _A pregnant silence fell over the room._

 _"Cenric," Feyre began again, her tone softer as she rose from her seat to approach our son who had moved to stare out the large bay window that overlooked the Sidra, the tick in his jaw prominent. "Think of the current state of things. Even Azriel can't pin anyone down, you'll be walking in there blind."_

 _"Then let me draw them out," Cenric snarled as he watched the water flow past, the presence of his power like a dark blanket across the house. "Let me be the bait and let me finish what they started so long ago."_

 _"Please, you can't risk yourself like this." Feyre's eyes flicked to Mor on the couch, looking for support. My cousin only shook her head, unwilling to intervene._

 _"And you think you can take all of them alone?" I inquired instead, leaning against the arm of the sofa. "You're going to be on your own out there, no magic, only brute force and your wits."_

 _Cenric turned from the window, glaring daggers at me. "Don't coddle me," he hissed, that rare temper of his showing itself more frequently than I'd ever seen. "This isn't negotiable."_

 _"Please," Feyre murmured, wrapping her arms around herself, "at least consider it, Cenric." Soft blue met hard cobalt for several heartbeats before a long sigh escaped my son's lips. He'd always been defenseless against his mother; we'd both been._

 _"I need space to think," he muttered, sidestepping her. "I'm going to the sitting room." My mate and I watched him disappear beneath the archway, his shoulders tight. No doubt going to find the piano, to play through his thoughts as he always did when things weighed too heavily._

 _A pacifist stranded in a hell-storm of shit and gore, that's what my son was. The thought of it tore at my soul as I hushed my own darkness to sleep._

 _"Has Azriel really found no leads?" Mor inquired as she turned her attention to me, her brown eyes flaring gold in the fading evening rays. "Is the trail that dead?"_

 _"So it would seem." How the damned pricks had slipped through my brother's widespread net I wasn't certain. I sighed, rubbing at my face, exhaustion wearing on me. "We'll find them." Somehow even the words even felt limp on my own tongue._

 _The slight lilting melody of a piano began to weave its way through our home, a slow sad tune, one Cenric favored when the memory of his sister ate at him the worst._

 _I tried to swallow past the lump beginning to form in my throat._

 _"Then take me to the Steppes," Feyre replied, absently beginning to braid her hair back. "Let me see if I can track them; see if a huntress can fill in the gaps a shadowsinger is missing."_

* * *

We came up empty-handed in our search, my mate and I.

We'd gone in secret, not even telling my brothers or Nesta of our presence there, hoping that the fewer people who knew of our presence the less likely they would be to take notice of our hunting.

It had been fruitless.

Even with her deft tracking skills, Feyre had been unable to pin down a single trail from where the wings had been dumped so carelessly. Any remaining traces seemed to have been swallowed up by the fresh snow that continued falling in light droves throughout the day, even in the rising temperatures of the fast-approaching spring.

Frustrated and furious, I'd dropped Feyre off at the Riverside Estate and told her I had business to attend to elsewhere and that I'd be home shortly. I'd sought out Azriel after, conveying what Feyre and I had, or rather _hadn't_ found, in hopes that it might shine some light on his hunting.

From there I'd ventured to the Hewn City, seeking a quiet place to mull through my thoughts. I'd been in the thick of my thoughts when the sound of a throat being cleared caught my attention.

"Of all of the places to choose to brood . . ." Mor commented as she stepped across the expansive hall, her golden hair shimmering dimly in the remaining faelights, heeled shoes clicking on the obsidian floors. "Although with your flair for the dramatic I shouldn't be surprised."

"I'm not in the mood, Mor," I bit back a bit more harshly than intended, my frustration showing itself, "Why are you even here?"

My cousin absentmindedly ran her hand down the abandoned onyx table as she approached the throne, her eyes lost in the memory of the place. "Someone had to see where your 'business' had taken you. You're not nearly as sneaky as you'd like to believe."

I suppressed my sigh as I dropped my face into my hands again, the roaring of my power tugging relentlessly at me, begging for release. I shouldn't have been the least bit surprised.

"What do I do with Cenric?" I murmured aloud, my thoughts beginning to trickle out, "How do I protect him from all of this?"

"He's a stubborn thing," Mor hummed, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned against the edge of the table, looking up at me, "set in his ways when he wants something." She glanced sidelong. "But to go through with the Rite . . ." A breath slipped through her lips. "I don't know if there is a right answer. Feyre wants him to postpone it, though we both know he'll refuse." You _want him to postpone it,_ her eyes seemed to sing.

She wasn't wrong.

"What right do we have to deny him?" I inquired, my thoughts melding into a chaotic haze of uncertainty, "it would be a wound against him if we prevented him from doing what he wants. He is an adult." Not that twenty-eight was much more than a fledging by fae standards, younger than I was when I took the Rite.

"He is your child," Mor shrugged, "you could always just forbid him from doing it." Since that had gone so phenomenally well when Feyre had said as much. She rested her palm against her arm, the red of her sweater a beacon against the black background. "The whole Rite nonsense it stupid anyway—I told you, Azriel, and Cassian as such when you took it, not that you listened to me then, either."

"And the cultists, the Illyrians?" I questioned, watching Mor with careful eyes.

"We could always just kill them, uproot them completely." A pause. "All of them." She rolled the fallen wine bottle down the table, watching it careen away, only turning to face me once it had dropped over the edge and shattered on the floor with a crash. "I'm certain Azriel would be more than happy to oblige."

She was pissed then too, excessively so if she were truly insinuating annihilating the entirety of the Illyrians.

"Mor . . ." I murmured, watching as my cousin's soil-toned gaze turned back to me, truth heavy in her eyes.

"When does it end, Rhysand?" she inquired, her voice laden with that tone that saw beyond the surface, "When do they stop resenting you for what you are? When do we stop losing what's most important over what we're supposed to maintain?"

A flash of the sneer on Keir's face came to the forefront as I thought on the access he had been granted to Velaris, the mocking he had put Mor through. On the fact that his allowance in Velaris was what allowed the rebels to slip in and take Celeste.

More mistakes I had made, ones that couldn't be undone.

"See if you can postpone the Rite," Mor advised one last time, pushing off the table. "Cancel it for this year so Cenric will have no choice but to not join in the fray. Then root them out, all of them. End this before it can begin again." Mor made her way towards the great archway that opened out of the throne room.

"Rhys," She paused before the entrance, glancing back over a shoulder, her hand braced against the obsidian archway, "Whatever you choose, know that we all will stand with you through it until the end."

With that, Mor disappeared into shadow, no doubt winnowing back home.

I ran a hand through my hair. Whatever I chose. I knew no matter what that my family would follow me without question to the end, even if that meant destroying my mother's people entirely. A hollow ache formed in the base of my stomach as I rose.

One thing at a time, I reminded myself. I wouldn't let Cenric die, under no circumstances was I willing to risk my son's life to the hands of the bastards who had killed my daughter. I had to figure out how to postpone the Rite. My stomach clenched. Or somehow trust that he would be able to survive.

* * *

Cenric's fingers danced over the keys as he poured his essence into the slow melody, the notes skittering across his skin. He thought of his sister, of how she would sit and mock his playing for hours while he stumbled through the first few practice sessions, how she would praise him when he completed a piece correctly, when he improved.

She had been a light snuffed out too soon, a light wrongly stolen.

The soft, solemn melody slowly shifted, as though the notes themselves were growing surer of themselves. Cenric's mind wandered to the Rite as flowing chords turned to slow staccato notes delicately accented with high tones, an inching, growing medley.

He had yielded to his mother only to keep her peace of mind, he would take the Rite regardless, no matter the price he might have to pay to ensure the bastards never walked off the field again.

That simple but determined tune gathered complexity, beginning to strum into a high crescendo, crashing like the waves of the ocean against a battered seashore.

He knew exactly how he was going to draw them out. All of them.


	26. The Challenge

Silence fell over the Windhaven outpost as each of the sister camps and their leaders arrived. Droves of Illyrian warriors, young and untried, flew at the behest of the camp lords to gather before the Rite. To swear the oath before their wings were bound and the consumption of the concoction that would render them powerless.

A week this pre-Rite would last, with clans celebrating the slaughter and rite of passage that was to come. This time granted each warrior the opportunity to size up the competition; to pinpoint who they'd hunt first.

Amongst those warriors stood Cenric, his shoulders stiff in his new Illyrian leathers as he watched each winged male saunter in, their chests were puffed with an arrogance that made his vision bleed red. He barely felt the comforting hand of his mother on his shoulder.

He shrugged out of it.

Now wasn't the time for her coddling, he noted bitterly as fury cold as ice bit at his spine. No, now was the time to put each of them back in their place. He thought back on her ongoing, increasingly desperate attempts to make him postpone the Rite, but none had succeeded. He barely noticed the hurt that flashed across her icy eyes as his fixed his gaze on the other warriors.

He watched each stride into the packed, oversized tent, their wings held high and shoulders back as their hard eyes locked with his own.

Predators sizing up their prey.

He dared them to try, begged them to. And with the relentless training that Cassian and Rhys had put him through, every brutal assault and defensive tactic they could drill into him, he knew he was ready.

The status of the Rite had been deliberated extensively, with his father and Cassian protesting the loudest against it, but to no avail. The matter had been put to a vote and they had lost in a landslide against the camp lords. The lords had insisted that regardless of the display of discarded wings, or the "shedding" as the elder women in the camps had taken to calling it, it could not defer tradition followed for centuries.

Cenric had been pleased by the notion, happy even that the Rite was to continue. The same could not be said of his father and uncle, both of whom wanted to press the issue further. He knew his father had considered forcing the postponement anyway but had relented when he'd met backlash from Cenric himself during their training.

He'd snapped at his father that he was doing nothing but making him look like a childish coward by trying to force the issue. He'd demanded to know if Rhys's own father would have gone to such lengths to protect him from some cowards hiding behind clipped wings.

His father had pushed the issue no further. Instead, he'd redoubled his efforts on trying to trace where the wings had come from and finding the cultists before the Rite began.

None had slept peacefully since the shedding. Even the few females who had braved attending the pre-Rite looked cautious, their eyes glancing to and fro, undoubtedly searching for the now-wingless females that were surely among them. But, as always, none were visible. Still, they kept their wings tucked in close.

In fact, no females appeared to be missing at all. It was as though it had been ghosts who had shed their wings and then vanished in the night before any could see. It didn't set well.

Azriel hadn't stopped looking since the incident and had been so absent in the past weeks that Cenric was surprised to see him amongst the warriors in the tent, his sharp face harsh as he watched the mulling crowd.

Searching no doubt.

"Enough," Cenric heard the low murmur from Nesta to his left, her hand tugging none too gently on his forearm, "You're grinding your teeth so loudly I can hear it."

Cenric barely contained the hiss, annoyed at the command in her voice, but made an effort to unclench his jaw regardless.

He had one advantage his father and uncle were unaware of. After his training had ceased in the evenings, when they had deemed it enough, he had sought out Nesta for further instruction, for the sheer brutality she brought to ring that neither of the males were willing to put him through.

Nesta had had no such reservations.

They sparred in the training ring for weeks in the darkest hours of the night, working through every maneuver she could teach him, every brutal exercise that pushed him near to his limits, and she never pulled a single punch.

She'd insisted she was spending the time trying to wear down his temper but Cenric knew she was only fueling it, honing into an edge sharper than any blade.

She wanted him to make them bleed.

And he would. He would not break, nor would he bow.

He'd barely slept, had survived purely on the notion that the score that had begun tallying when they'd taken his sister would finally be settled.

A hushed murmur rushed through the tent as Cassian made his way to the center of the crowd, encircled by the camp lords who looked out on their warriors with brutal indifference. Rhys stood nearby, arms crossed and by all appearances relaxed, but Cenric knew better.

He knew the tick in his father's jaw, the one that promised violence if anyone so much as stepped out of line.

He was aching to fight too, then.

"You all stand here today as warriors prepared to take part in the Blood Rite," Cassian began. His gaze passed over every individual in the tent, lingering only briefly on the small pocket of female warriors who congregated near the front, Nesta's lieutenant Valka and her quiet mother amongst them. "This sacred ritual is presented only to those who have earned it, to those whose very essence bleeds Illyrian."

The original "blood" had been changed to "essence" in the formal charge to the warriors once Nesta had insisted on taking the Rite and annihilated the first rebels who had spoken out against their High Lord. Since then it had been decided that anyone could petition to join the Rite if they proved themselves worthy, even without Illyrian blood in their veins.

This was the reason the meager fourth Illyrian in Cenric's blood had been enough to permit him to join in the fray.

"Tonight, you will swear the oath before our ancestors, the warriors who have preceded you." Cassian pulled forth an old iron dagger with a leather-wrapped pommel, one believed to have belonged to the first Illyrian warrior Enalius. This blade that would be used to draw blood from each of the warriors as they swore their oaths before the first's tomb. "And you will begin the last descent into becoming true warriors by the Illyrian creed."

"As per tradition," the General added, a wry smile forming on his lips as he flicked his eyes towards Rhys and Azriel in some unspoken memory, "each clan or individual is invited to address the assembly before the pre-Rite ceremonies begin." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Anyone?"

Cenric took a single deep breath and stepped forward.

"I will," he began, his deep voice echoing across the crowd as hundreds of eyes landed on him. A hushed silence fell over the tent as each warrior began to size him up. He tried to ignore the flare of surprise and irritation that flashed across both his father and Cassian's faces, to ignore the sharp intake of breath from his mother behind him.

Too late to go back now, he thought with bitter amusement.

"I stand here before you today as the last living heir of the Night Court," he nearly spat the words as he stepped before the assembly, "and I offer you a challenge." Willing his father's cool confidence and quiet power to his demeanor, he smiled wickedly as each of the warriors eyed him with dismissive indifference or feral interest.

"We are all aware of the act of treason that has been committed against my family," Cenric turned his attention to the nonexistent dirt beneath his nails, arrogance coating his every tone and movement, "and it seems the perpetrators have decided to hide like the cowardly rodents they are."

He didn't fail to notice the slight shifting of wings in the crowd, the quiet murmurs. Good.

"So I issue you a challenge," he opened his arms wide to the crowd, "if you are too fearful to present yourselves openly and face my family as a whole then face me during the Rite," he snarled, "and we will finish it there and end this cowardly bullshit in a contest of strength." He let out a humorless chuckle, and the surrounding warriors bristled. "Come, show me the courage and honor the Illyrians claim to pride themselves on. Or will you take a coward's path again? After all, it takes _true_ bravery and skill to hunt a child in the night for sport."

Silence brimming with barely contained fury rippled through the crowd.

"Brave words," one of the young warriors nearest Cenric, a male built like a wall and with a wicked scar running from forehead to cheek, finally interrupted the heavy pause, "for a wingless, pampered, mixed breed prince." Cenric bristled.

The warrior stepped forward, his sharp gaze bearing down on Cenric as his hand drifted to a blade at his side. The males around him cast wary glances between him and the too-still shadowsinger half hidden in shadow. He stopped before the smaller male, wings flaring. "And a bold accusation to make with no proof of treason from any one of us."

"Is it?" Cenric hissed back, unperturbed, the blood beginning to thrum in his veins. "I've come to expect nothing but boorish idiocy and weak loyalties when it comes to the Illyrian males. You're all barely a fraction of the warriors that came before you."

"I'm giving you one warning, boy." An array of furious growls and grunts rose in the tent with a crescendo. The male stepped within inches of Cenric, his eyes dilated to black. "Why don't go you back to your cozy palace and let the real males play?" He shoved him harshly.

A tether in Cenric snapped.

Before the male could turn to step away he found cold steel pressed flat against his throat, his eyes widening in rage and shock as Cenric's knife bit harshly into his flesh.

"Try me, bastard."

The warrior growled in fury and reeled back away from the blade, whipping a wicked dagger from his belt and slashing at him in a blind fury. Cenric dodged easily and whirled behind the male before planting his boot squarely between his shoulder blades and sending him flying forward.

A shout of alarm and fury escaped his opponent's lips as he clumsily crashed forward into another group of warriors, who snarled in return as they shoved him back to his feet. Cenric only fell into a defensive stance, daring anyone else to step forward.

Gaining his balance, the warrior immediately whipped around to charge towards Cenric, blade brandished, when he came face to face with an arrow leveled at his face. Feyre's eyes narrowed dangerously as she pulled the bowstring taut.

"Stand down," her voice was like ice as she glared at the male, her aim unwavering. "Immediately." Cenric went still.

Silence dropped over the entire tent.

The male froze, but his nostrils flared in fury as he glared beyond his High Lady at Cenric, his hand still tight around his dagger. The bow creaked as Feyre pulled it tighter.

"I said, _stand down_ ," she hissed, ice beginning to crawl up the body of the bow and down the arrow's shaft. "That wasn't a request."

The male had enough sense to drop his hand, and though he looked likely to break past Feyre, he settled for spitting on the ground before her. "Of course, the halfbreed's whore came to rescue her pup-" The male's eyes suddenly went wide as though an invisible tether held him, his dagger tumbling to the ground before him.

"One more word," Rhys's hard voice came from behind Cenric, "and that mouth will never make another sound." The male had enough wisdom to look concerned, a bead of sweat beginning to trail down his forehead. Cenric turned just enough to see his father behind him, flanked by Azriel and Cassian who both rested hands on the hilts of their blades.

"There is to be no dueling during the pre-Rite," Cassian reminded, his face hard as granite, "those who commit it are to be banned from participating." He angled a very pointed, angry look at Cenric, who refused to balk. The General sighed, slightly relaxing his grip on his sword. "However, since there was no bloodshed I will permit you to join with the understanding this does not happen again."

A gasp escaped the warrior as Rhys's hold on him loosened.

"Now move on, both of you."

Neither male made any motion to move, each refusing to be the first to back down. Cenric kept his eyes locked on his adversary's face, memorizing every detail. The other warrior snarled in return.

" _Move on_." Cassian near-bellowed at them. Cenric barely registered the command as he rose from his defensive stance and sheathed his blade, the blood roaring in his ears. Another pregnant pause followed as they each backed up a step, still staring one another down.

The silence was finally interrupted with a pleasant chirp from Valka.

"Well then, this is chalking up to be a good time. And here I was worried this Rite would be boring."


	27. Just Go With It

**storyteller4271/art/Gandriel-again-782230173?fbclid=IwAR3UTKfqhiLqVQEDY_l_s9eGO3Efv6vj2_7WQPtrOWo8DVJlWulTSTJr9E - painting of Gandriel**

"Aren't you cold?" Gandriel inquired as he trailed after Anelisse, watching the small girl glance to and fro as they descended further into the tunnels, the remains of her ragged dress trailing limply behind her. "You're soaked."

"I'm fine."

"Are you certain? You're barely clothed."

She leveled a look at him over her shoulder that had him directing his attention towards the wall. No point in pushing it then, he conceded as he found a particularly interesting cobweb to stare at, splashing through yet another puddle.

The young blonde had been shooting him looks of murderous intent for the last twenty minutes and he didn't expect her to stop anytime soon.

He let out a long sigh, rubbing at his face. The women he kept contact with were usually crawling all over him, not snapping at and manhandling him. He missed the company of the sweet-faced dames in Marchedor, so unlike the prickly females ahead of him.

In that regard, he realized with amusement, Anelisse and Celeste could be considered twins, despite their physical differences. Their temperaments reminded him a great deal of the ruling matrons in Monteserre. He suppressed a shudder.

The thought also roused images of a dark-haired woman that had his heart twisting sadly - he missed his mother dearly. She would have already lectured him about his lack of attention to the freezing girl in front of him.

He felt more than saw her steely glance land on him again.

Nope, he wasn't going to risk it.

They trekked in a silence for several long minutes with only the sounds of their pattering feet and the trickling of water for company. The tunnels slowly descended deeper into the earth and the pooling puddles began to lessen as stone floors slowly faded into dirt.

The slavers hadn't taken a very subtle route with their captives, Gandriel noted uneasily. They'd only made a handful of turns that were easy enough to follow, especially to one with a keen sense of smell.

The musky scent of human bodies grew with each passing step they took, the tang of salty tears and blood entwined with it. He tried to ignore those bits.

How Celeste intended to move what were clearly dozens if not hundreds of slaves without getting caught was beyond him, but he didn't intend to question her nor abandon her quest. He just sincerely hoped she had some ingenious plan to get them out, up through the tunnels, and back to Fallon before the guards noticed and someone got an arrow in the back.

He wasn't particularly confident in the notion.

More shivers danced across Anelisse's bare shoulders and he gnawed on his lip. His brows furrowed at the center of his forehead as concern flitted through his mind. He caved.

"Are you certain you wouldn't like my cloak?" he offered again, reaching to pull the article from his shoulders. She could hate him while being warm at least, not that it would do much, soaked as it was. It was still better than nothing.

"No." She didn't even bother to turn and address him this time, briskly ignoring him. He dropped his hand and bit back a groan. Well then.

She shivered again and Gandriel moved to unclasp his cloak and give it to her regardless when Celeste suddenly stepped to the shadows and crouched.

"Quiet."

She raised her hand to halt them, listening.

"There." She pointed ahead of them, where the narrow tunnel diverged and widened considerably. "They're that way."

She palmed her dagger free from her belt before motioning for them to follow. Anelisse, tiny as she was, followed suit and produced her knife from some inner fold of her shredded skirts, the blade large and clunky in her hands. Gandriel grimaced, awkwardly running the fingers over the hilt of his own blade.

Had he told Celeste that he hadn't had any official combat training besides fencing as a youth? And that even then he'd been thoroughly walloped? No, he was fairly certain he hadn't mentioned that.

Best to not bring it up now, then.

Maybe if they got caught without being killed he'd at least be able to find something warm for the stubborn blonde.

* * *

Celeste moved like a wraith in the shadows as she crept around the crumbling bend in the tunnel, following the faint echoes of shifting cloth and hushed, fearful whispers.

Anelisse flanked at her back, clutching Lukas' gawdy blade and watching intently for any movement as Gandriel followed not far behind. The smell of metal was beginning to entangle itself through the scent of fear and unwashed human.

Armed men, several of them.

As Celeste slipped easily down the corridor, the tell-tale flickering of torchlight caught her eye, its orange hue casting deep shadows in the dark recesses of the tunnel. She raised a hand to halt Gandriel and Anelisse behind her.

"There's at least several guards in there," Gandriel murmured behind her, tawny eyes flashing gold in the firelight as he glanced rapidly to and fro as though calculating their odds. "If you happen to have a brilliant plan, now would be the time to execute it."

One had been forming at the edge of mind since they'd begun their descent. She only hoped it would work.

"Listen closely, both of you."

* * *

Celeste finally reached the archway where the faint torchlight flickered from, her mind twisting as she steeled herself, her hands lax at her sides. Quietly, she dared a peek around the corner. There, huddled against the far wall of the chamber were easily five dozen people, nearly all of whom she recognized from Vanica.

The scents of filth, uncertainty, and fear were muffled by the musty smell of the rotted hay they'd clearly been using for bedding. Heavy iron chains led from their hands and feet to anchors buried deep in the chamber walls.

Scattered amongst them were several armed guards, standing about indifferently as they watched two of their companions arguing with a blonde prisoner, two children huddled behind her.

One of the children was Marrien, her dark hair dirty and matted, her brother's arms clasped protectively around her as he pressed into Layla's, his mothers, legs.

"The girl goes," the larger of the two guards grumbled impatiently, "she's already been sold. Step aside, woman."

"You cannot have my daughter!" Layla cried, her shoulders shaking as she stood her ground between the guards and her children. "Take me, but not my children."

As though sensing Celeste's presence, Marrien glanced upward and her sad hazel eyes immediately locked with Celeste's. Her eyes flared wide in recognition as her lips parted.

Celeste quickly shook her head raised a single finger to her lips, hushing the child. Marrien gulped and turned her attention away from Celeste, back towards her mother who stood soundly between her and the guards.

"I said, _step aside_ ," the man growled, more harshly this time as his hand came to rest on the pommel of his sword. "The girl's worth more than you are so it'd be in your best interest to move."

"I will not let you take her!"

The guard's hand slammed painfully across Layla's face sending her reeling backwards as the children cried out in panic. "I told you to move, woman—"

Celeste's snarl turned into a startled gasp as a hand grasped the back of her head, fingers entangling in her hair. She scrambled as her assailant hauled her upwards and forward.

"Gentlemen," Gandriel's smooth purr rumbled behind Celeste, his gloved hands digging into the sensitive skin of her scalp and tugging at the delicate hairs, "there's no need to handle the merchandise so roughly. You wouldn't want to harm the buyer's product, would you?"

All the guards suddenly snapped to attention at this new voice, brandishing various mismatched weapons.

"So unobservant, you humans," Gandriel hummed as he pushed Celeste forward forcefully towards the armed guards, her attempts to dislodge his hold around the back of her head unsuccessful. "It's not surprising your companions let this one get away."

A feral grin graced his lips, "Or this one."

He glanced over his shoulder as Anelisse dove at him from the shadows, knife drawn, fury twisting her features. A cry of anguish escaped her as he easily knocked the blade to the ground with one hand and caught her forearm. He pulled her upwards and pinned her against the wall, still keeping hold of Celeste with his other hand.

"Sneaky little minx, aren't you?" the male cooed as he held her arm tightly above her head, trapping her body with his hip, cool amusement on his features. The look she shot him was absolutely murderous. "Impressive for such a small thing to slay her guards. Even more impressive you were foolish enough to trust me."

"Take your hands off my sister," Anelisse seethed, thrashing under his hold. "Let us go, you lecherous, lying prick!"

Gandriel only clicked his tongue. "Listen how the trash makes demands. At least she's easy on the eyes, right boys?" He turned his attention back to the startled guards who regarded him with wide eyes, their weapons still held aloft.

"Oh, do you suddenly not recognize me?" Gandriel shook his head as he dragged Anelisse forward away from the wall, his hand in a death lock around her wrist.

The men scrutinized the male, squinting in the dim torchlight before recognition flashed across some of their features. Their skin turned ashen as they took in his tall form, his mouth curved in a mocking, cruel smile.

"You're that fae bastard from the Queen's Dame," one of the men, a short round fellow with a thick beard, finally gasped. "I recognize your face from the docks."

"Bravo, my good man! It seems at least some of you have functioning eyes." He glanced around the room at the captives, disdain wrinkling his nose. "Not that you'd really need them with the folly here."

Celeste contemplated stomping her heel into his toes but resisted the urge, gritting her teeth as his hand dragged her head back so forcefully she faced the ceiling. Anelisse had no such reservations, taking the moment to use her free hand to dig her nails into Gandriel's forearm. He didn't so much as flinch.

"What are you doing here?" the man spoke again, warily. "You should have sunk with that ship."

So, they didn't know Gandriel had been the one to capsize their vessel then. The fool, charismatic as he was, took it in stride.

"I, for one, am more resourceful than you useless humans," Gandriel drawled, his eyes flashing with arrogance, "and managed to save my goods from that shipment." He suddenly grabbed Celeste's hair more tightly, fingers digging into her skull as he forced her to look up at him.

His eyes gleamed, begging her, _Play the part_.

She shot him a glare, but slipped into her role, jerking against his hold, her scalp singing in pain as hair tore loose.

"Let me go," she hissed, pulling and thrashing against him as a smirk graced his lips, "You said we would come to help these people! Not that you were bringing me back to them!"

"She's a fiery thing, as you can see," Gandriel chortled darkly as he jerked Celeste close, his other hand dragging Anelisse behind him as he stepped further into the room. "Though her powers proved to be a flop, the contact was wrong."

"You mean to say the fae bitch isn't actually a resurrectionist?" one of the tall guards, apparently the leader, growled in annoyance. He pinned Celeste with a menacing stare; she cowered away. Let him think her a terrified invalid.

"Quite right," Gandriel sighed dramatically. "Seems that lying little fly from Vanica was promising you something that didn't exist."

"There were witnesses that saw it," the guard spat in response, his eyes evaluating Gandriel and Celeste carefully, "swore by it."

Marrien sent a worried look towards Celeste as she shuffled closer behind her mother.

Gandriel gave a dismissive _tsk_. "Of course there were, we fae can't expect you humans to understand the power that you see or how it works. I've evaluated her powers and she's nothing but a simple healer, and not a very good one at that. She only healed the child, she didn't bring her back from the dead." He gave a breathy chuckle. "As though such a thing were possible."

The guard considered. Celeste held her breath.

"You fae bastards have some use at least," he grumbled, sheathing his blade and nodding his head towards the other guards, who quietly lowered their weapons well, mistrusting glares softening to approval. "Excellent work then, hand the women over and you'll get your reward."

"Ah ah, I don't think so," Gandriel cooed, pulling Celeste closer to him. "You see, I've gone to a great deal of trouble to bring her to you and by the laws that govern us she technically belongs to me now."

"What rubbish are you speaking of?" the bearded one barked, stepping forward, "There's no such laws."

"But there are, gentlemen, there are." Gandriel's voice darkened as he stared each of the men down. "As written in _my_ contract with your lovely organization I was promised due compensation for subduing and bringing the girl to you. A _large_ compensation I might add, one that I would say is equal to her price now that we know her 'power' is false." He smirked as the guards shifted uncomfortably. "Fortunately, unless you boys would like to scrounge up a rather large amount of coin, I'm willing to barter with you."

"Why should we pay you at all when we can just kill you?" one of the thinner guards chuckled, running his hand down a wicked-looking mace at his side.

Distant thunder violently boomed through the tunnels, sending bits of dirt scattering from the ceiling, eliciting screams from the shackled slaves. The man immediately paled.

Celeste had to bite back a bark of reprimand for Gandriel to not bring the _entire_ tunnel system down around them.

"I wouldn't recommend testing my temper any further, gentlemen."

Gandriel roughly shoved Celeste forward, causing her to tumble headfirst onto her knees before the guards. "Take her, and I'll keep this one for myself." He turned his attention towards Anelisse and gave her an approving once-over. She only snarled in response.

"-And the little one." He pointed towards Marrien who froze, her eyes widening in fear.

"She's already been sold, boy," the tall leader replied, his face still blanched from Gandriel's show of power. "As has the blonde bitch," a sneer at Anelisse, "I can't give you either. Take your pick from the others."

"Unacceptable. I want them both."

"You'd be wise to stop arguing—"

"YOU would be wise to know your place, human." Gandriel's voice came out in a great growl, all fae male arrogance and possessiveness. Celeste blinked in surprise, resisting the urge to glance back at him as the guards all took an instinctive step backwards.

"I've made my choice and seeing as I could kill you all and simply take what I want, I'd say I'm being generous." He motioned to the guards, now beginning to sound rather bored. "Bring her to me now."

The men glanced at one another in tense question, unsure how to proceed.

"I said," another boom echoed throughout the tunnels, sending more dust falling around them as Marrien yelped, "bring her to me _now_."

The leader gave a shallow nod before the guards shoved past Layla and reached for Marrien. James cried as he clung to his sister, refusing to let her go. The guard made to forcibly remove him when Gandriel piped up with a cold chuckle.

"If he's so set on going with her then I'll take the boy too," he said with a nod. "I say for all my hardship and, as interest for your disrespect, that's a fair trade." He reached his hand out for the chains. "The two children and the female, if you please." He sent a sensual look at Anelisse over his shoulder, who scowled in response. "And with that, gentlemen, I'll let you keep your lives and the bitch healer. A fine trade if I do say so myself."

The round guard spit in annoyance but nodded as he pulled both James and Marrien away from a sobbing Layla and passed their manacles over to Gandriel, who tugged both children towards him as he adjusted his clamp on Anelisse's wrist. He nodded once in confirmation, then gave a mocking bow, the chains clanking in his grasp. "Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen."

He sent a soft glance at Celeste, almost apologetic. She gritted her teeth as she willed him to go, to flee while he had the chance. He'd played his part.

He blinked his eyes once, his only sign of confirmation behind that hateful smirk plastered on his face as he regarded the guards one last time before suddenly vanishing into thin air, taking a startled Anelisse and the children with him.

Celeste barely contained the eyeroll as a sigh of relief escaped her. She _knew_ the idiot could winnow.

* * *

Gandriel felt his heart heave and drop in his chest as he stepped between places, panic and fear driving his magic to take himself and the others anywhere other than the slave tunnels. Even as that somewhere else rapidly materialized into the interior of a dimly lit building.

He suddenly found himself left to the whims of gravity as he plummeted through open air and landed with a resounding _whump_ as a puff of hay straws flew up around him.

It took him a moment to orient himself amongst the loud clucking of panicked chickens and the startled snort of a horse, the dingy smell of sweet grass assaulting his nose. He found himself staring at a dark pitched roof, the paint along its surface peeling with age.

He'd winnowed them into a barn.

A gasp of surprise escaped his lips. The plan had worked, the guards had bought into his shoddy acting job and-

Oh by the Mother. So he _was_ able to winnow-

"What was that?" Anelisse snapped from somewhere above him. Groaning, he raised his head and found the petite blonde on the hay loft with the two children clinging to her as they regarded him with wide eyed fear. An old worn ladder sat nearby that led down to the barn's floor.

At least he'd managed to get _them_ onto a stable surface, he thought glumly as he remembered his less-than-graceful tumble. He was fairly certain he'd wrenched his left shoulder. He'd just as soon stay put for the moment.

"I don't know," he admitted sheepishly, having had no intention of doing that. It had just happened, like some instinctual pull on his magic. "Celeste calls it winnowing."

Even with the distance and dim light, Gandriel saw the look of distaste warp Anelisse's features. She quickly and quietly rose to her feet and moved towards the descending ladder before quickly scaling down, motioning for the children to follow her.

Once on the ground the children reattached themselves to her legs, their small bodies shivering from the penetrating cold.

"Anelisse?" the little girl whispered in bewilderment as she clung to the woman, her brother clinging just as close on the other side, "W-what is going on?"

"We're getting you away from the bad people," Anelisse said gently. "We need to keep moving though, so we can get you somewhere safe."

Marrien swallowed hard past her throat full of tears. "What are they going to do with Celeste?"

"Nothing you should worry about, sweet girl," Anelisse comforted, smoothing the girls hair, "she's going to try and get your momma and the others free."

"So you did come to rescue us," a wail escaped Marrien's wobbling lips, causing Anelisse to drag the children closer. "Oh, what if they hurt Momma, if they hurt Celeste—"

"They won't," the girl assured the panicking child, "I promise."

"What about the mean man?" Marrien whimpered, casting a wary glance at Gandriel still laying prone amongst the hay, groaning slightly as he tested his shoulder. She pressed into Anelisse, away from him. "Is he going to take us for slaves-"

"No," the blonde murmured. Guilt twined through Gandriel's stomach at the terrified looks the children were sending him, "He's going to . . . help us."

She sent him a look that said if he even thought otherwise she'd dig his grave herself.

"We need to get moving now, especially since you've just handed my sister back over to hands of the enemies." There was no small amount of venom in Anelisse's tone.

"It was her plan," he shot back weakly, still reeling from his sudden winnowing. His head swam as he stumbled to his feet. "I only did as she asked."

"You didn't make any attempt to deter her," Anelisse growled as she tugged at the chains about the children's wrists, trying vainly to free them. "If she dies, I will kill you." She shot him another glare. "I might just slit your traitorous throat anyway."

Gandriel blew out a breath, annoyance beginning to filter in as exasperation took over.

"You can't seriously blame me for your sister's choices—"

"I can and I will." She pointed a delicate finger at the cowering children. "Now, get the manacles off of the children and hand over your cloak."

He didn't argue. He slung his cloak off with ease and tossed it at the silvery woman before taking hold of the boy's wrist. With deft hands he quickly broke the iron shackles off the child, careful not to hurt him.

"See?" he smiled, gently rubbing the boy's wrists, "No more chains."

"Thank you," James mumbled, his brown eyes wide as he bobbed his head once and scuttled behind Anelisse once again. Gandriel turned and made quick work Marrien's cuffs as well. The small girl nodded her thanks.

"Where are we?" Anelisse inquired as she glanced around the quaint building, the animals having settled from their unexpected guests.

"In a barn?" Gandriel offered, shrugging his shoulders. He didn't think telling her he had absolutely no idea was a good option, especially considering the only thing he'd thought of when he'd winnowed them was somewhere safe.

"I'm not even going to grace that with a response," Anelisse snipped. Stepping quietly through the hay, she cracked the door open and was met with an onslaught of icy rain. "I think we're still in Rainfelle."

She turned towards him.

"I don't suppose you could use that little vanishing act to get us to the ship?" It had been the point that Celeste had emphasized the most, get Anelisse to the boat, get her away. The blonde had been near unwilling to let her sister hand herself over to get on the inside of the slave trade.

She had almost insisted on going as well until Celeste had reminded her she would be more use on the outside than stuck playing slave alongside her.

He shook his head, his shoulder still groaning in agony from his fall, "I don't know if I can do it again, I don't have very good control over it….it just sort of happens."

She quirked a fine silver brow at him.

"Ah, so you don't perform well under pressure," she clicked her tongue, the double meaning of her words evident as she crossed her arms beneath her chest, "that's not surprising."

Annoyance flared through him.

"I'll have you know," he hissed back, "I do _just_ fine under pressure when it comes to matters of—" Gandriel sent a sidelong glance at the wide-eyed children watching him. "You know what I mean."

She didn't look convinced.

"So, how are we getting out of here then?" She looked anxiously towards the door as though waiting for slavers to come crashing through at any moment. "We can go on foot, but how much time will that take?"

Gandriel glanced around, thinking when his eyes landed on a large bay work horse casually chewing on hay at the back of the barn, seemingly unconcerned with the happenings around him.

"We'll borrow a horse."

"Borrow?" Anelisse said incredulously, "Gandriel, I don't think what you're planning is considered _borrowing_ , more like _stealing_ —"

"No, it's borrowing," he insisted as he made his way towards the large gelding, who simply twitched an ear at him and pulled at another mouthful of hay. "We'll bring him back . . . eventually."

Anelisse only gave a long-suffering sigh.


	28. The Ploy

Celeste kept her head down as the sentries roved past again, their boot-clad feet scuffing across the damp dirt floor as they made the same rotation for the seventh time that hour. She felt more than saw one pause before her, a sigh of piqued interest slipping through his nose.

He'd been watching her like a predator stalking prey, ogling her in ways that made her want to snap his thin spine.

 _Be docile_ , she could hear Gandriel warn when they'd thrown together this makeshift plan to get her inside the slave trade to set the others free. T _hreatening them with disembowelment isn't going to help you._

She hated to admit that male had a point. Even if she had considered just slaughtering them all as an option.

She'd been impressed with Gandriel's impromptu winnowing act, startling enough it'd left the guards reeling as she'd slipped on a mask of fear and compliance. They'd hurriedly taken up defensive positions around her, ready for her to strike.

She'd done no such thing, instead simply letting them chain her. She listened to the murmurs of the other captives from Vanica as the guards half-carried her off to a dark corner, nailing her chain to the floor and toeing it roughly with their boots for good measure to make sure she was secure.

Layla was re-chained beside her, the sharp-eyed woman watching her with a mix of contempt and what Celeste almost pinned as gratitude.

They'd sat in silence for what felt like hours, the guards murmuring to themselves and glancing sidelong at Celeste in quiet victory, blatantly smug at having subdued a high fae woman so easily.

 _It's the iron_ , one of the louder ones had exclaimed, _I told you it'd work on 'em_.

Celeste had merely closed her eyes, hoping that their ignorance of her kind would keep their guard loose around her. She only had to bide her time-

Layla broke the silence with a barely discernable whisper.

"You came back for us," The woman's brow furrowed, distorting her soft features. "For all that we did to you, you came after us."

Celeste opened her eyes and only leveled a gaze at the woman, watching her.

Layla swallowed hard, blinking back tears. Celeste heard the rustling of the captured fishermen nearby, their attention flitting to her and the young widowed mother.

"That fae man . . . he took James and Marrien, he took Anelisse." Tears dribbled out of Layla's eyes and a quiet sob escaped her. "I failed my children and I do not know what to do."

Celeste considered remaining silent, the truth of what Gandriel would actually do with the children just behind her lips.

Layla let out another heart shattering sob as she pulled her knees to her burying her face in her tattered skirts.

"He won't hurt them," Celeste supplied, so quietly that only Layla could hear, glancing cautiously towards the far entrance of the room where the guards had congregated, laughing amongst themselves. "They are safe with him."

"And how would you know?" Layla hissed in reply, angry saturating her desperate tone, "Didn't he sell you back into this against your will after you had escaped?"

"Did he?" Celeste cast a pointed look at other woman, and faint understanding seemed to dawn in her eyes.

"You are surely not such a fool-"

Celeste held up the iron chains before Layla, willing her to see. Willing her to understand she could shred out of them with half a thought.

Layla suddenly blinked in understanding. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks with chained hands, then straightened herself against the wall of the chamber, looking at Celeste in disbelief, as though she were seeing her for the first time.

"You have to trust me."

"Quiet down there!" One of the guards had finally noticed the two whispering women and brandished a torch in their direction. "Enough talk out of the both of you."

Celeste only cast her gaze back down and pressed her shoulder into the hard stone of the wall, complacent and scared. The part she was to play.

"The captain will be back within the hour," the guard droned on, swishing the torch across to illuminate all of the captives, "you best be ready to move when he gets here."

* * *

"It's very cold," Marrien murmured, pressing close into Anelisse's front. She swayed slightly with the gait of the bay draft horse as he splashed along the sloppy roads they'd been navigating for several hours. "The rain is still falling."

Anelisse reached an arm around the child and patted her shoulder, a comforting gesture that she hoped was enough to placate her. "Only a little longer, we'll be there soon." James shivered where he rode in front of his sister and Anelisse tugged him closer beneath the dripping cloak.

They needed to get the children somewhere warm, and quickly, before illness set in.

"Isn't that right, Gandriel?" She glared down at the sodden male leading the plodding horse, his dark golden locks now a muddy brown from the downpour.

He muttered something under his breath in that language she had discovered he spoke. Something she likely didn't want the translation to.

"I didn't quite hear that," she replied with sickening sweetness, her fingers gripping the saddle beneath her a little too forcefully, "I'd hate to miss your ever-so-enlightening conversation."

"I said we're almost there, _dearest_ Anelisse," he grumbled, shooting her a look over a shoulder, white teeth flashing in the faint light of the lantern he carried in an attempt to banish the impenetrable darkness engulfing them like a dark blanket. "And that I do hope her Majesty isn't too cold."

"Oh, I'm just perfect and warm as can be _dear Gandriel_ ," she hissed in response, contemplating pulling off one of her sodden slippers to throw at his head. "I was only inquiring to know when this lavish and wonderful trip was to come to a close."

"Maybe when you shut your fat mouth—"

"You indecent, swine-eating mutt, get over here and say that again-"

"I would if you weren't perched so high on your little box of self-importance -"

Anelisse reeled back to snarl a retort when Marrien's small voice piped up.

"Anelisse, are you and Mister Gandriel . . . together?"

Anelisse froze as the girl's words settled around her. She gave a small cough and spluttered, "W-what?" Even Gandriel had paused in his leading of the horse to send a mortified look towards the child. "Marrien, what did you just ask me?"

"If you and Mister Gandriel are courting each other," she felt the girl shift in front of her, "you sound a lot like how the sailors and young ladies at the tavern used to talk. Momma says boys being mean and calling you bad things just means they like you."

Anelisse felt a flush rush to her cheeks. "That is absolutely ridiculous, I would never in a million years even _consider_ this pompous ass-"

"I was just curious." The little girl patted Anelisse's arm around her shoulders, as though she were offering her comfort. "You do sound like you like one another."

"No, Marrien," Anelisse assured her, glaring at Gandriel's back as he once again pulled at the rope, conveniently hiding his face. The gelding gave an annoyed snort and plodded after him. "I assure you that is not the case in _any_ capacity." Quite the opposite, she grumbled internally.

"I agree." Gandriel's voice rang out from ahead as he navigated a particularly treacherous puddle of sticky mud. "I only like nice women, Marrien, something Anelisse doesn't know how to be."

"I'm perfectly nice to non-egotistical jerks."

"OH I'm the jerk now—"

A small giggle from Marrien. "Ooh James, I bet they've kissed."

"Marrien, please," the little boy croaked, sounding like he'd rather be anywhere else than there at that moment.

"You do realize I can hear you, don't you?" Anelisse inquired, glancing forward to give the child an incredulous look. The girl simply gave a nonplussed shrug, seeming oddly collected given the series of events she had been subjected to.

"I still think you have," she tapped her chin thoughtfully before turning and smiling brilliantly at Anelisse. "You would make very pretty babies."

The choking sound that came out of Gandriel only added to the intensity of incredulity on Anelisse's features as she tilted her face skywards. Perhaps the Mother would be gracious and would strike her with lightning to spare her this discussion.

"Marrien, dear, you don't even know where children come from," she offered softly, the fading blush on her cheeks deepening again as she prepared to divert the conversation elsewhere.

"Oh I do!" the girl exclaimed with pride, "They come from a momma's belly, like James did. Though I do wonder how they get in there . . . how does that happen, Anelisse?"

She really did not want to have this conversation.

"It's really . . . complicated, Marrien," she said, noting with no small amount of annoyance that Gandriel's shoulders were quivering with suppressed laughter, "and a talk we should have at another time."

"I know it takes a Mommy and a Daddy," the girl pondered aloud as Anelisse contemplated just how far away the ship was. "I bet it has something to do with that funny dance Eoin told me he and Celeste used to do at the docks."

Anelisse's world froze.

"Eoin Lingard?" she gaped in utter disbelief, thinking on the sharp-cheeked young sailor who had worked with Celeste at the docks, the cute one that she had on occasion seen her sister give a once over. "What did Eoin say he and Celeste were doing, exactly?"

How low she had stooped, that she'd been reduced to getting gossip from a small child about her now-abducted sister's former love affairs as she fled slavers in the deep of night.

"I don't remember, I just know Eoin said he didn't have a shirt and Miss Celeste was a red as a tomato." Such a pleased statement from the child. James only groaned in embarrassment.

Anelisse's flush deepened further. _Oh._

"She's not the only one that looked like a tomato," Gandriel taunted as he grinned up at her, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

"Pay attention to the road!" she snapped.

He only laughed in response and immediately stepped into a deep puddle.

Anelisse couldn't suppress her snort at the sudden squelch of mud and furious muttering as Gandriel slipped, the lantern he carried flickering dangerously.

Yes, she mused, the Mother indeed had a sense of humor.

* * *

The captain, Dermot, did appear within the hour as promised, much to the chagrin of the guards who flinched as his voice rose in a crescendo of reprimand.

He was a tall, well-built human with silver-flecked hair cropped close to his head. His features were fairly bland but the broad shoulders beneath his light mail shirt and his eagle-sharp eyes told Celeste this man was not as foolish or as weak as the other buffoons that were watching over them.

She noted the details silently, knowing he'd be the one to look out for. _He_ was like the slavers that Fallon had warned about.

Dermot had been beyond furious when he heard of how Gandriel had fooled the guards into believing such lies about his 'contract' and how they had foolishly let him escape with not only Anelisse but the two children in tow.

His sharp reprimands had echoed throughout the tunnels as he dealt out punishment to each of the men, his fist snapping across their faces like a whip.

Celeste tried to keep the amusement inside, her features schooled into a picture of subdued neutrality.

"Where's the fae bitch," Dermot seethed as he glanced around the room. His eyes honed in on Celeste as she watched him and he waved a hand. "Bring her to me."

She didn't fight as the leader of the guards dragged her upright and shoved her roughly forward, a dagger pressed to her back.

"She's here, sir," he said. "That male said she doesn't have any resurrection powers though, just a shoddy healer."

"I'll decide that for myself."

Dermot snapped a sharp glare towards the guard behind Celeste, holding a hand out for her shackles. The man handed them over quickly before cowering away. Dermot pulled Celeste close, enough that she could smell the faint remnants of wine on his breath as he assessed her.

"Oddly beautiful even for a fae whore," he clicked his tongue as he reached down to grip her chin, twisting her face to the side as he assessed her. "And surprisingly well-behaved, considering the hell it supposedly was to capture her."

He turned her face back towards his, a small cruel smile twisting his features, "A pity, really. Breaking their fire is the fun part."

Celeste struggled to keep her temper in check as she allowed him to appraise her, kept her hands limp even though she craved to rip his eyes from his skull.

"She'll have to do." He dropped his hand from her face and snapped his fingers at the guards. "Get the blue bane chains, you idiots, she could tear through this iron like paper." He turned an amused glance back to her. "Isn't that right, pretty?"

She only locked her gaze with his, a battle of dominance between star-flecked violet and dark onyx.

"But you won't, will you?" he cooed, suddenly grabbing her hair as he kneed her painfully in the stomach, forcing the breath from her lungs. She crumpled to the floor. "Behave pretty and I might make this less horrible on you."

Celeste slumped on her knees, clutching her stomach and panting a bit more forcefully than necessary as she allowed her mind to reel back to her darkest memories, sending a shudder dancing across her shoulders. She was supposed to be scared.

"You leave that girl alone," a single shaky female voice rose behind Celeste and she jerked her head painfully to the source. "You cowardly bastard."

It was Pennelope, her lovely brown curls tangled as she stood up beside her husband, her dark eyes flashing with defiance.

Celeste willed her to sit, to keep quiet. Because if Dermot went after Pennelope . . . she knew she would not remain complacent.

Dermot glanced at the woman, watching her momentarily as though weighing his options before entirely dismissing her, no more than a noisy rodent.

"Get the fae bitch chained," he simply ordered calmly, adjusting his dark leather gloves. "We need to get them up and moving before the storm dies down."

The guards scrambled for a chest in the corner as Dermot looked at Celeste with an amused smile. "And you, my dear, aren't fooling anyone."

She narrowed her eyes at the man but before she could react she met with a sudden blow across her face, sharp and stinging, sending her vision fading to black.

* * *

 _The tunnels were a dark labyrinth of dusty cobwebs and the faint smell of stagnation. Abandoned millennia ago, nothing dwelled within them any longer and only the bits of crumbled stone and whistling winds from some unknown crack in their depths remained. This was where Celeste went for quiet, when her poorly controlled emotions became a burden and she needed a place to think, to just be._

 _A place where even her family could not find her. Her own sacred sanctuary._

 _She had known punching that older boy would only get her into a heap of trouble but she wasn't willing to let him continue his harassment of that young fae boy. That refugee child with the hollow-looking black eyes._

 _Wandering down the familiar corridors, she relied on her memory and sense of touch to guide her in the pitch-black tunnels. Any other child would have been terrified of the engulfing darkness and silence that the ancient evacuation routes harbored, but for Celeste it was a refuge._

 _The sight of that too-thin boy pressed up against the wall begging them to stop flitted through her mind . . . she had not thought, had only acted. They might have been over twice her size but they only possessed a fraction of her fury._

 _She'd barely registered what she had done until the older boys' friends had peeled her off him. It had taken three of them to pry her loose, her fists still slamming furiously into their friend's face as they threw her back._

 _She'd landed on her side, the rough cobblestone tearing through her thin shirt and skinning her side and knees. She had been up in only a matter of moments, seething from the adrenaline coursing through her system, fists balling at her side as her wings flared._

 _"I said, leave him alone!"_

 _They had turned to her scathingly when their gazes finally landed on her face, recognition flaring in their eyes. It'd be near impossible to not know who she was._

 _The tallest of the boys murmured, a dark-haired high fae child, backing up a fearful step._

 _It had taken them only a few moments to realize just who intervened in their little game before their faces had blanched and they'd offered some half-hearted apologies and pleas that she wouldn't tell her father before fleeing._

 _She'd spat at them._

 _She'd helped the thin boy up and he'd feebly introduced himself as Connor, offering his thanks before bowing, deeply, before her and muttering about needing to get home. She'd wanted to ask him if he wanted to be friends, but the question had died on her lips._

 _Instead she had only nodded as he ran off, traitorous tears beginning to streak down her face. The hatred of those children made such anger and sorrow race through her, the familiar cold sensation of being outcast blooming in her chest._

 _She knew she'd likely be scolded for both her actions and wandering off but she'd opted to sneak down into the tunnels beneath the city, to sit in the darkness until she could calm her storm of emotion, and to keep her family from seeing._

 _Celeste had been introduced to the secret tunnels when the kind sweet-shop owner had found her in a corner of the alley crying one afternoon after a group of children had abandoned her the middle of a game of hide and seek. She'd spent hours wandering trying to find them, wholly unaware they'd fled to the other side of the city to play and avoid her._

 _The kind woman had only offered her a piece of one of her favored candies before holding up a secretive finger to her lips and showing her the old entrance to the tunnels behind her store. She had said she would tell no one of Celeste's newly found hiding spot and that it'd be their little secret._

 _Celeste had never told her family of it._

 _And so, on the days when her brother was preoccupied with lessons and she was free to wander about and play as she pleased, she'd taken to exploring in the tunnels alone._

 _She'd never been very good at making friends and most of the local children found her love of dark and strange things odd. And when her brother wasn't there to play, well . . . she was alone._

 _Not wanting her family to worry, she'd made do, enjoying her own company more than the other children's as she traced forgotten paths through the ancient labyrinth._

 _Celeste's fingers brushed the familiar notch on the far left wall of the tunnel, the indicator that she was nearly to her hiding spot. Counting her steps, she quickly turned to the left down the branching corridor and made her way a hundred and two paces before she stopped, the sweet smell of her candy stash tickling her nose and lifting her spirits considerably._

 _Yes, being here for a while would fix things, then she could run home before dinner and her family would be none the wiser._

* * *

Celeste's eyes fluttered open as the dream faded, the one that had started occurring after reviving Gandriel. The dark walls of the tunnels and scent of stale air were replaced with the muffled whisper of lapping water nearby and the stench of armed men. Dermot had knocked her out before moving her, she realized, clarity filtering back in.

The human male was certainly more intelligent than the other slavers had been.

A sudden wave of nausea overtook Celeste as she felt her very existence push inwards, as though cringing away. Glancing down, she caught sight of heavy blue chains about her wrists and waist. Faebane.

She lifted her head to take in her surroundings but a sharp pain laced through her temple, causing her to close her eyes and press her forehead against the floor once more.

"Be still, _layl_ ," a thickly accented but somehow whispery female voice murmured, "you've been unconscious for some time."

Celeste squinted and the face of a beautiful lesser fae female swam into focus above her. Her head was loosely covered in a scarf of dark silk, but several ebony curls escaped it. The deep shadows only highlighted her magnificent eyes: sharply slanted and colored a pale, metallic gold, broken by slit pupils which dilated in the low light. The female shifted, reaching toward Celeste with a gloved hand, and the faint lanternlight glistened off her skin, highlighting pockets of deep indigos and blues woven together in repetitive geometric patterns near her eyes and across her high arched cheeks.

"Come, _layl_ , I will help you up." She offered her hand again and Celeste tentatively grasped it, allowing the fae woman to prop her against the wall.

"Where am I?" Celeste croaked, her throat dry as she glanced around at her surroundings, noting no others in the dark room, just herself and the other fae woman. As her eyes adjusted and her head cleared, she registered swollen wooden walls and the permeating smell of the sea. They'd taken her aboard a boat, she realized, a sense of dread overcoming her. "Where are the others, the humans?"

"They brought you, alone, bound in the bane chains a few hours ago." The woman rattled her own blue chains, clamped tightly about her wrists. "They separated us from them, likely keeping us chained and more heavily guarded."

Celeste swallowed the lump in her throat, assessing.

"Who are you?"

"Naita of the Naagalata Tribe." Celeste caught a flash of fangs as her companion frowned. "I was captured on my way to Rask in search of items for my Lady." The female quirked her head. "And you are?"

"My name is Celeste," she offered, weakly raising her chained hands to rub at her eyes. "Where are we?"

"Aboard the vessel the _Loreley_ ," the female replied. Her voice was deep and musical, but with a slight hissing quality to it. "They brought the humans aboard first, confining them to the lower levels. I believe we're the only fae aboard."

She clicked her tongue, still studying Celeste. "They've been coming in periodically to see if you've woken up. I suspect you're to be given to the Captain as a play thing," she added with disgust.

"That's the idea," Celeste replied in barely a whisper, a plan forming as she noted the two guards watching rather nervously them from just outside the room, their hands on their bows and quivers strapped to their hips, no doubt full of ash arrows.

Naita blinked her mesmerizing eyes once in surprise. Celeste watched the woman, that invisible tug leading her once more.

"How do you feel about playing a little game with our dear captors?"

The Naagalata female's eyes burned like embers.


	29. A Seductive Cream Puff

"Should be pleasin' enough for the Captain," the maid assessed briskly, her lined face set with deep shadows in the faint lanternlight. Her old wrinkled hands tugged deftly at the fastening of the gown. "Now, best mind your manners, prickle-ear or you'll be right back in the stuffy underbelly. Captain's none too pleased about losing that pretty blonde but the prospect of beddin' a faerie has 'im interested."

The woman tied off the last lace that looped through the tight crushed velvet corset hugging Celeste's lithe form, tugging it closed none too gently. The luxurious cream fabric was embroidered with faint rose patterns that shifted with every breath Celeste took, laced so tight in fact she feared if she inhaled too deeply the stitching would pop. Squinting her eyes at her, the maid turned to a chest and procured a light lace shawl, delicately laying it across Celeste's bare shoulders before pinning it in place.

Clicking her tongue, the maid gave her a final once-over, adjusting stray wisps of loose hair that she spent hours on back into place atop the towering mess of curls that now perched precariously atop Celeste's head.

"'Ave a look, girl."

The woman turned Celeste towards the tall mirror leaning heavily against the cabin's wall, bits of fabric and twine scattered about it. But Celeste saw no sign of the missing weapon she was looking for amongst the bits of lace and gossamer.

No she had yet to spot the leather pommeled weapon Naita had described to her in rapid hushed whispers before she'd been hauled out of the hull of the ship and into this powder room. The one Dermot had personal pried from the woman's grasp when they'd finally managed to down her.

From the image Naita had painted it sounded as though several of the slavers hadn't walked away from their confrontation with the lesser fae.

Celeste couldn't say she had been particularly sad about their demise.

Rather, Celeste noted with a hint of bitterness, she was more annoyed at the prospect that the Naagalata woman was likely having a nicer time in the belly of ship waiting than she was playing dress up.

Celeste barely suppressed the eye roll as she finally looked herself over, the sheer absurdity of her attire nearly eliciting a snort of disbelief. The gown was preposterous, a monstrosity of gossamer and tulle that sat tight against her torso but flared wide about her legs. The petticoat was so large she knew if she turned too suddenly she'd knock the items off the table behind her.

Taking a tentative step, she noted none too pleasantly that It was nearly impossible to move in. She was certain had she undone each stitch of ruffles, she could have fashioned an entire rope from their length.

The maid had slipped her into far more scandalous bits of lace beneath the gown prior, however, whispering it was the captain's preference since he was of fine standing and not some filthy street urchin or mercenary, before she'd easily secured tall lace stockings beneath the gown and slipped Celeste's feet into heeled shoes of a similar cream shade.

Some ridiculous, _modest_ human fashion.

She looked like a cream puff.

The maid made quick work of pinning an oversized white hat adorned with feathers to her hair before scampering off around Celeste and out into the hallway, no doubt calling her escort to the Captain's chambers. Celeste didn't fail to notice that, for all her finery, they hadn't risked removing the faebane chains. She closed her eyes and suppressed another wave of nausea that rose to meet her. She was useless with the stone clamped about her wrists and struggled to even remain upright, bits of sweat beading along her skin beneath the already suffocating gown.

Between the gown and the chains, she realized how truly limited her mobility would be and that would have to rely on other means to get herself out. She knew Naita only waited for the signal below deck, that the Viper, as she had called herself, would strike as soon as she saw the opening and as soon as she had her whip in hand.

That was if Celeste could get her the opening and find the weapon.

She'd been shuffled into this room nearly two hours prior to be scrubbed and groomed until she was deemed "presentable" before her dinner with the so-called "honorable captain." As if there was anything honorable about slaving.

She'd been slowly gleaning information from the maid's rambling as she washed and dressed her and had come to the conclusion this captain was a man of some notoriety, and apparently susceptible to big eyes and soft lips of the opposite gender and prone to fits of rage only when challenged or questioned.

Much like many of the men she'd met during her time in the human lands, easy enough to placate and please if the need arose. So, a fair, docile maiden was the role she was to play.

She flicked her legs in irritation against the heavy fabric, contemplating snagging one of the small pairs of fabric scissors and stuffing it into the folds of her gown when the maid returned, holding the door open as Dermot strode in, his face plastered in what Celeste now assumed was a permanent scowl.

"She's dressed awful nice." Dermot noted, raising a thick brow skeptically as he took in her groomed appearance.

"Cap'n's orders, dog," the maid snipped, breezing past him and pulling Celeste forward. Her ankles nearly twisted in the heeled shoes as she righted herself. The maid had made her disdain for the slaver clear from the moment Celeste had been dragged up to this stuffy room. Dermot's shoulders tightened in irritation at the woman's insult and she promptly ignored him. "You're only to escort her to 'im and then be on your way, we set sail within the hour."

"Your captain is a fool if he thinks dressing her like a fine lady will change what she is, maid." Dermot sent a look of disgust at Celeste which nearly had her own lip peeling back in response. Instead she schooled her features into distrust, glancing away from him and taking a careful step back.

The maid was unruffled.

"None of your concern." The woman quickly made a final adjustment Celeste's skirts before dragging her over to Dermot, slapping her chains into his gloved hands. "Now, be on your way before you anger 'im."

Dermot opened his mouth to retort but was silenced as the woman swiftly shuffled the two out of the small cabin into the narrow hall. She stopped only briefly to level a gaze at the slaver. "Be mindful, you lay a hand on 'er it'll be your head that'll roll."

And with that she slammed the door in their faces.

Celeste blinked at the abrupt dismissal, letting her timid mask slip for a moment into a smirk as she scented the rage from the slaver. His dark eyes snapped up to her own - she simply sent him a polite smile in response.

The maid while stern had been decent enough to Celeste but had treated Dermot like mud beneath her heels. It brought a bout of joy to Celeste that nearly had her laughing in delight. It seemed she'd played her role of the helpless female well and the maid had bit into it with fervor.

Either that or the slaver was simply so unlikeable the woman would have treated him so regardless of who she'd been dressing.

"Shall we?" Celeste delicately outstretched her fingers, giving him another simpering smile as she motioned at him to lead.

Dermot's eyes narrowed beneath his dark brows before he roughly gripped the chains about her wrists and dragged her in front of him, nearly sending her tumbling. He paused only long enough to grip the back of her dress, his voice a rasp in her ear. "Don't try me, bitch."

Celeste contemplated slamming her heel into his toe.

A rather pointed cough sounded from behind the door and Dermot loosened his grip with a snarl, pushing her forward down the hallway toward the narrow stairs leading to the deck. Celeste followed slowly, noting her surroundings and cataloguing each doorway and hallway, noting as she set her foot on the worn steps that the staircase descended to another level below.

Likely where the other captives from Vanica were now being held.

On deck, Celeste blinked and squinted as a sudden blaze of fading sunlight illuminated her face. They still appeared to be near shore, but crew members scurried about, clearly preparing to cast off. Most of the men quickly averted their gazes and went about their business, although a few brave souls sent Celeste second glances, from either surprise at her fae heritage or amusement at her attire, she wasn't certain.

Dermot gave her another harsh shove forward, leading her toward a large and elaborately carved oak door leading off the deck. He shot her a stern look, then rapped his knuckles on the smooth surface three times. The sound of shuffling papers and the scraping legs of a chair sounded before the door swung open to reveal a rather plump middle-aged human, his coppery hair thinning in the center of his scalp and his nose too long and too hooked for his narrow face.

From the scent that wafted off of him he must have just freshly washed, bits of moisture still clung to the few remaining bits of hair combed across his forehead-not that it did much for the stench of the sweat already beginning to soak his shirt and bead across his brow. He procured a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped it across his face.

"Lord Bardell," Dermot greeted, sounding equally as pleased to see the captain as Celeste was.

"Ah, Dermot! A pleasure as always," the man beamed, his voice a high nasally pitch as he surveyed them and stopped, his eyes landing on Celeste and widening significantly. "And this must be the lady . . ."

He stopped for a moment, his jaw nearly slack as he took her in. Celeste resisted the urge to bristle but instead looked up at him with what she hoped was piqued interest. "Oh my, aren't you exquisite," he breathed, staring shamelessly. Dermot gave a small cough and the captain blinked and stepped back, opening the door to them. "Come in, come in!"

Celeste keep her eyes to the ground as she shuffled into the room, illuminated brightly by the last rays of the sun and far more candles than could be considered safe on a wooden ship. The interior was decorated in fine pastel colors with a large dark wooden table at its center. Against the far wall sat an equally oversized canopy bed, hung in heavy brocade embellished with fat-overstuffed pillows in the same pale hue. Quarters luxurious enough for a well-to-do captain.

Celeste risked a glance back and watched as Bardell nodded his head once nervously to himself before shutting the door behind them. He brushed a hand down the front of his fine velvet jacket and tried to discreetly suck in the girth about his waist. Not a man used to physical labor then. The jacket he wore was a lavish deep navy embordered with fine golden thread. Far finer than any mercenary could afford; a lord's son perhaps?

Looking about uncertainly, Celeste toyed with the sleeve of her gown, playing every bit the unsure maiden. With a swift sweep of her eyes she noted Dermot did not look the least bit convinced as he gripped her chains firmly. Bardell, however, looked primed to take the bait as he bustled back over toward the table, sending a reproachful glance towards Dermot who gave a harsh tug at her wrists.

"Move."

Celeste let out a pained whimper, allowing a short gasp to well up between her lips as she stumbled clumsily to the slaver.

She tried not to beam as she watched Bardell take notice, frowning irritably at her captor. The captain held out a gloved hand impatiently. "Really, Dermot, that is entirely unnecessary. Remove the chains from the poor girl."

"Absolutely not," the man snapped, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Have you gone mad?"

"That wasn't a request, Dermot," Bardell responded, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "Look at her!" he gestured towards Celeste, "She is a fearful maiden, not some swine that will be used to do the drudgery. Now, the key, if you will."

"Captain, I must remind you, this is no ordinary human woman," Dermot hissed. "Leave her chained if you value your life."

The captain's gaze sharpened. "It was my money that bought her, if I recall correctly," he replied, undeterred. "She is to be my guest, not my prisoner. Her chains, now."

Dermot looked primed to retort but instead dug through his pocket before procuring a key and handing it over to Bardell alongside Celeste's chains, a muscle in his jaw feathering in annoyance.

The captain gently slipped the key into the lock of the chains and, with a soft click, the blue stone slipped free and fell to the thick rug with a solid thud. Relief immediately rushed through Celeste as she tried her best not to gasp in as clarity, cool and soothing, flooded her.

Bardell must have noticed her unsteadiness as he eased a hand under Celeste's arm to steady her, watching her with a longing he didn't bother to hide. Celeste shot him a coy look from beneath the hat, a maiden struggling to hide her interest. She resisted the urge to gag.

"Your slaves are in the hold beneath the boat," Dermot spoke up briskly, suddenly seeming eager to be on his way. Celeste didn't fail to notice how his stance became suddenly guarded as he watched her carefully, his hand slipping to rest on the pommel of his ash dagger in his belt, something he'd brandished at her previously.

"Dermot, you know we've discussed this," Bardell bristled, looking at the slaver reproachfully. "They're not slaves, they're merely . . . cargo. Free labor if you will. We don't use such coarse language," a sidelong glance at Celeste, ". . . especially in the company of ladies."

She couldn't help but blink at the audacity of it all, curling her fingers into her palm before she attacked either of the men before her.

Dermot snorted. "Call it what you will. I received the first part of your payment three days ago, I expect the rest before the end of the week."

Bardell didn't seemed fazed as he turned his attention back to Celeste.

"You're excused." He flicked a wrist at Dermot, dismissing him entirely. "I'll see to it that the rest of your payment is delivered in two days' time, and, of course, you are to speak of this to no one."

"You are a fool," Dermot murmured as he watched Celeste with eagle-sharp eyes. "You can wrap a wolf in lace and call it a lapdog all you like, it'll still tear out your throat the moment your back is turned."

Bardell paid him no heed, seeming to have not even heard him as he busied himself at the table with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Dermot showed himself out, his eyes only leaving Celeste as he shut the door behind him.

"Please allow me to get you a seat, my lady," Bardell chimed, his nearly stumbling as he rushed to pull out an overstuffed chair upholstered in fair pink floral, no doubt the captain's preference given her dress's similarity.

Celeste glided over to the table and allowed him to help her into the chair, the tassels from his shoulders catching in the delicate pins the maid had slipped into her hair.

"It is truly an honor to meet you, madame," Bardell gave a sweeping bow, the light from the hanging lanterns reflecting off the smooth skin of his scalp. "I am Lord Bardell, seventh son of the Bardell Merchant family . . . but you may call me Rufus."

"A pleasure . . . Rufus," Celeste supplied easily, trying not to sink into the relief of being free of the bane chains. She glanced about the room as she let herself settle and look comfortable, even as her mind ran through every possible escape route. "It is _such_ a relief to be away from that cruel man. I give you my sincerest thanks."

A blush crept up the man's cheeks that reaffirmed her suspected hold over him. "Of . . . of course, my lady, you are, after all, my guest." He filled both glasses with wine, his eyes never leaving her face as he held one out to her. "Now, if you are feeling less faint, let us have dinner."

Celeste smiled warmly as she took the glass, sipping at it as she listened to shouts from the deck and braced against the slight jolt as the ship pulled away from port. The poor fool had no idea he'd just let a fox loose in the chicken coop.

* * *

"Your vessel is most . . . impressive," Celeste hummed, glancing around the beautifully constructed cabin, wooden beams and trim carved with delicate lilies and blossoming vines, a fine a ship as any. Realizing she'd directed her attention from the captain she glanced back towards him as she cut into the piece of savory pork before her, eating it delicately as she watched her host preen.

She sipped at her wine, a rich, sweet red, as she listened to the man prattle, noting that he reminded her vaguely of a cockatoo.

"Ah yes, a gift from my late father," Bardell, or _Rufus_ rather, straightened slightly in his spot at the head of the table, his well-trimmed mustache glistening with pork fat. "It has served me well in my dealings. Ships so fine are not easy to come by, you know."

"I imagine not," Celeste replied, fluttering her eyelashes as dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, easily slipping one of the extra knives from the table into its folds as she tried to ignore the bile that raced up her throat at the sight of the bits of grease dripping from Rufus's lip. "Though I do wonder how a man of your . . . standing ended up working with a cutthroat like Lukas."

"The young Pennington boy?" Rufus shook his head. "Strong-willed that one, but too ambitious for the trade perhaps," he swirled his wine, "Dermot thought as much as well. He didn't want to make the contract, insisted the lives of a few fisherman and a fae woman weren't worth the hassle."

Celeste sliced a carrot in half. "And you found them to be so?"

"You have to help those who are less fortunate and just breaking into the business," Rufus said, waving a hand with a simpering smile, "It is not easy work, my dear, and the merchandise can be rather . . . troublesome at times."

Celeste snapped the fork in her hand.

Rufus let out a small squeak of surprise that had her scrambling. She stared at the handle still grasped in her hand, her mind racing, before she quickly flicked it beneath the table and swept up her salad fork to continue her dinner, cursing herself. "I-I do apologize, such lewd talk makes me . . . uncomfortable."

"Oh of course, my lady! Where are my manners," Rufus nodded once, understanding flitting across his features, "Such talk is not befitting the dinner table. You must understand you will find only the finest comforts here, I am gentleman after all, not some washed up slaving trash. I only _transport_ the merchandise, I have no hand in its acquisition, you must understand." He beamed at her.

"Of course, how comforting," Celeste quipped with a smile and lifted her crystal glass, being mindful not to snap the stem as she scrambled to find a compliment to smooth things over and convince herself not to smash the goblet and gouge out his eyes. "Though with the . . . splendor of your facial hair it's not surprising you have equally . . . elaborate taste in . . ." She glanced around her, eyes landing on her spoon. "Silverware."

She quickly swigged from her wine, thanking the Cauldron that this simpleton of a captain seemed more than happy to soak up any poor attempt she made at seduction. She'd been at this nonsensical jabbering and wooing for the better part of an hour and her compliments grew more heinous with each one she gave.

She could practically hear her sister's cackling and retching had she borne witness to the lousy excuse for flirting that Celeste was subjecting the man too. He appeared none the wiser though and his smile only widened at her comment.

"You noticed my collection of Goldwell Silverware!" Rufus exclaimed brightly, his face lighting up with surprise as a dribble of gravy slid off his fork onto his jacket. "It's not often one finds someone with an equal taste for fine cutlery."

Clearing his throat, he easily slipped into another round of droning about his collections of forks and spoons.

Swallowing a sigh of relief, Celeste took advantage of his distraction and began to scan the room, looking for any traces of Naita's whip, searching for the dark leather coloring the female had described to her. Her eyes snagged on an item laid across Rufus's desk, still neatly wrapped about itself, its carved handle as beautiful at Naita had described.

Celeste slipped the location to the back of her mind as she popped another piece of meat into her mouth, savoring the food that'd she pleasantly discovered to be delicious. No harm in eating while she bided her time, watching the final glow of twilight fade into true darkness.

Finishing his tirade, Rufus blotted at his glistening brow with his napkin. "I must say I do have impeccable taste indeed, madame," he sloppily sucked another piece of pork into his mouth before finally wiping it with a delicate hand. "Especially when it comes to the fairer sex."

Celeste blinked a few times at the rather abrupt change of topic, forcing a soft smile to her lips as she leaned forward, trying all the world not to look as awkward and off kilter as she felt. "Oh?"

He swiped the napkin across his brow again, this time smearing the remnants of dinner across his forehead as few small grunts slipped free from his mouth. Celeste suddenly found herself extremely thankful that his lower half was hidden beneath the table.

"Do you . . . wish to show me this preference for the fairer sex?" Celeste felt like an idiot the second the words came out of her mouth, especially as she rested her arms against the table and pushed her bust up and forward. Rufus got the idea however.

"Oh, oh yes, I would." A clearing of the throat. "Just . . . give me a moment to freshen up." His eyes glazed as they fixed on her corseted bodice, devouring it. Celeste gave a forced smile as she remained in her spot.

"But my lady, I fear I have not learned your name!" Rufus suddenly spoke, as though the realization had just dawned on him.

Celeste blinked in surprise, not having expected him to ask, she began glancing around, trying to conjure a lie to her lips-

"Lily," She hoped the lie seemed smooth as she ran a gentle hand over her wrist, trying not to stare too blatantly at the carvings across the room's interior. "My name is Lily."

"A fine faerie name," Rufus said, nodding his head in confirmation before he rose. "Allow me to freshen up my lady, I will return shortly." He snapped his fingers, summoning a maid from the side room. "Please help Lady Lily from her gown and then leave us be."

* * *

Celeste let a low slow breath out of her nose as she watched Rufus reenter the cabin, his throat bobbing in anticipation with each step he took towards the fine bed she laid on, his excitement clearly visible through his thin trousers.

Repulsive, the man was absolutely repulsive.

How many other slaved women had he subjected to his will? How had they faired once he'd grown bored of them? She wasn't certain she wanted to know.

She didn't let those thoughts filter onto her face though as she curled onto her side and let a loose hand rest on her hip, as she schooled her features into a look of interest and of seduction.

She was supposed to be entranced by him _, thrilled_ to bed him-

She almost gagged at the prospect.

She was doing this to save innocent lives, for Naita who waited patiently below deck for her. She would survive this, would make this man pay for having the audacity to sell people like cattle.

The maid had unpinned the curls from her head, allowing them to fall down her back in a silken black curtain. She knew exactly how enticing she looked, laid upon the bed as she was, and knew it would take little to bend the male to her wishes.

She rose up on her knees and flashed a dazzling smile at him, allowing him full view of the lacey undergarments the first maid had clad her in.

His excitement only became more pronounced.

"M-my lady," Rufus stammered, now dropping any pretense of looking anywhere but her body, "I-I must—"

"There's no need for words," she cooed to him, leaning back against the bed and motioning with one finger for him to join her, climb atop her.

He was only too eager to oblige.

Laying back against the pillows, Celeste averted her gaze as the man unbuttoned his pants, apparently too eager or unwilling to remove his clothing before his crawled atop her, the smell of a rank cologne assaulting her nose.

Celeste easily lowered his head towards hers, his hands resting on either side of her head. Running her fingers across his jaw, she rested one palm behind his ear and the other on the other side of his neck.

"Y-you're absolutely beautiful," Rufus cooed, his manhood digging into the soft fabric at her waist.

"I know."

Celeste smiled brilliantly at the captain, her eyes flashing in the candle light of the room, before she cocked her head and, with a deft twist of her hands, snapped his neck.


	30. Of Bedsheets and Assassins

_**Authors Note: Ahhhh this chapter has taken me FOREVER to finish. I had the first draft on my computer and proceeded to dump water on it frying my new computer and losing the entire thing T_T. Fortunately I was able to get it fixed (and use my old one in the mean time). Thank you for all of the reviews! They gave me a lot of motivation to get this chapter finished. I hope you all enjoy it!**_

The heavy downpour had finally subsided into a light drizzle as bits of watery light began to slip through the sodden canopy of the thinning wood. Gandriel still led the plodding bay gelding down the slippery path, his legs coated in dense mud as the exhausted group moved through the hazy morning.

"We're almost there," he called over a shoulder, no longer even attempting to shake the water out of the drenched hair clinging to his face. The blonde nodded her head dismally, pulling the shivering children seated in front of her closer, wrapping the soaked cloak about them tighter in a vain attempt to stave off some of the cold.

They'd been on the road for the entirety of the night and the chill had seeped so deeply into Anelisse she could no longer feel her bare legs pressed against the leather of the saddle and her breath billowed in the icy air before her.

She knew the children weren't faring any better.

Marrien's shoulders shook with violent shivers as the child scooted further back into her, seeking warmth.

"Just a little while longer," Anelisse soothed, running her hands up and down the child's arms to try and generate heat. Her skin was like ice.

Just a little while longer, she repeated to herself internally, forcing herself not to glance back through the forest for the hundredth time to ensure they hadn't been followed. That the slavers hadn't called their bluff and pursued them through the rain-drenched night.

She caved and glanced over her shoulder to see the path behind them was indeed still empty and silent, save for the steady dripping of water. She let a small breath of relief escape her lips.

Pushing her soaked locks back, Anelisse turned her face skywards, closing her eyes for a moment as another worry bloomed in her stomach. Leaving her sister had left her nauseous, and it had taken every ounce of control she could muster to not rush back towards her.

She could only hope that the Mother watched over her and that Celeste, strong-willed and clever as she was, could find a way out of slavers' clutches and somehow free the remaining citizens of Vanica in the process.

"Anelisse," Marrien murmured sleepily as she pressed her sopping head back against the girl's shoulder, "do you think Celeste will get Mommy and the others free?"

"If anyone can do it, it's Celeste," Anelisse replied with an encouraging squeeze, turning her attention towards the light seeping in from what appeared to be the exit of the wood. Gandriel's pace increased, tugging the less than pleased gelding along.

As they finally stepped beyond the trees onto the faint trail that wound down to the craggy beach, Anelisse was met with a wide view of the open ocean. To her right, wisps of clouds curled beautifully against the still dark sky as the first tentative beams of sunlight at last peeked over the treetops behind her, burning away the last of the rain.

There, docked near the jagged coastline sat a magnificent ship, its hull embellished with swirling engravings, the name Siren gleaming in bold script along the side. Anelisse could just make out a flurry of movement aboard the ship, people running to and fro-

Shouting echoed out from the ship and Gandriel raised a hand before calling a reply to the scrambling crew. The cliffs reflected a faint splashing noise as an anchor was cast over the side.

Anelisse tried not to slump in relief, even as the worry of her sister's willing capture still danced through her mind.

* * *

Rufus's body went limp and still atop Celeste, the light draining from his eyes as death rushed in to claim him. He collapsed abruptly into a flabby lump atop her, the sudden bulk of his body forcing the air from her lungs.

She let out an annoyed wheeze as she felt the remaining hardness of him pressed flush against her waist, the wetness of bodily fluids beginning to leak out.

Disgusting, foul, vile man.

With a grimace, Celeste worked her legs up between her and Rufus's corpse before she tucked her knees in close and deftly kicked him up and off her. His body tumbled off the bed, landing on the plush carpet with a resounding thump. She sat up to catch her breath, and made a face as she caught sight of his pants still sitting just beneath his exposed rear.

Hissing in annoyance, she quickly swiped at her stomach with the down comforter, muttering curses.

Easing herself to her feet, she tilted her head towards the doorway at the far end of the cabin, listening for the tell-tale sounds that anyone had realized something was amiss. With bated breath she waited, counted.

Only the whisper of waves against the hull, and muffled cries of deckhands.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She slipped from the bed and quietly crept across the expanse of the cabin, artfully side stepping the carcass of the Captain as she made her way to the large oak desk, where Naita's whip was so carefully coiled.

Keeping one eye on the door, Celeste let out an appreciative hum as she glanced the weapon over. The leather pommel glistened in the candlelight of the cabin, the whorls and designs carefully etched. It was finely crafted and clearly hand tooled - something that no novice would carry.

Setting the whip aside, she began rummaging through the desk's contents, rifling through parchments and paperweights, scanning each page as she went. She paused as her eyes snagged on a leaf of papers with the phrase "lesser-fae female" hastily scribbled across it.

She pulled the document close and flipped through it, a smile beginning to tug at her lips as she read the contents. It was the report on Naita, on the specifics of her capture and how many men she had managed to kill when they'd cornered her.

Twenty-four. Celeste grinned wickedly. No wonder they'd had the female so heavily guarded, it had taken Dermot and a few of his closest associates to down her, with three well-placed ash arrows to boot.

And she'd still managed to rip out the throat of one of the men even after he'd cuffed her in faebane.

It seemed the naagalata's woman's words to her earlier held true: an assassin indeed.

Celeste found that she wasn't the least bit surprised by the efficiency with which Naita had fended off the slavers. Her mind turned to the use of the ash arrows, frowning as she absently rubbed at her wrists.

Flipping through the rest of the pages, she found numerous letters of correspondence between members of the slaving ring: names, dates and shipment locations, all penned in elegant, elaborate script. Celeste knew exactly who would want that information.

Quickly, she rolled up the collection of papers and shoved them along with the whip into a fine leather satchel she swiped up from Rufus's chair.

He no longer had a use for it.

Stepping back towards the Captain, Celeste knelt by beside the corpse, grimacing as she gingerly began to fish through his pockets.

She quickly procured the key to the faebane chains he had slipped away after releasing her earlier. She could only hope the key would fit the lock to Naita's chains as well. Pocketing it, Celeste crept toward the door, listening to the deckhands milling about outside.

It seemed no one was aware of the events that had just transpired and were likely blissfully aware of the current state of their Captain.

Glancing down at herself, Celeste suddenly became aware of her attire, or rather the lack thereof. Mouthing a silent curse, she slipped across the room and began rummaging through the various trunks and chests stacked throughout the room.

After digging through several and finding only the remains of tattered, well-worn dresses, presumably from the Captain's prior endeavors with the 'fairer sex', Celeste came across a lovely wooden chest that contained her belongs, the ridiculous sheer pink underthings Gandriel had so thoughtfully bought her placed carefully on top.

She had never thought she would be thankful to see such scant underthings again. Making quick work of dressing, she yanked off the fragile bits of lace she was currently wearing and tossed them aside before pulling on her own sturdy clothes.

She was tugging at her boots when a tentative tapping sounded at the door. She froze.

"My lord?"

Hadn't Rufus sent the servants away?

Silence engulfed the room for several long moments as Celeste willed her mind to calm, frantically seeking an escape route. Finding none, instinct told hold and she let out the most ludicrous moan she could manage.

The voice gave a soft "Oh!" before muttering about returning later, the sound of soft shoes shuffling across the floor fading as they strode quickly away.

She felt herself deflate against the wall, releasing her breath in a long slow stream. Close, that had been too close.

Rising, she abruptly realized she would not be able to use the main door as an exit, as it led directly onto the deck. The shouts of sailors still navigating out to open sea and the creak of ropes echoed clearly through the thick wood of the door.

She briefly considered smashing the large bay windows in the room but decided it against when she thought on the commotion that was bound to make. Hissing to herself, Celeste slipped out of the main room and into the tiny adjacent powder room where the maid had undone her gown. She knelt next to it, unable to suppress a wry smile as the garment's resemblance to a deflated souffle struck her.

Fishing around in the seemingly endless layers of tulle, Celeste unearthed the knife she had swiped and quickly pocketed it, knowing that any weapon, even a dinner knife, was better than none.

She stood and turned to the wooden vanity tucked against the wall, haphazardly yanking open drawers and rifling through them. She came up empty-handed, with no more than thin scraps of ribbon and a variety of gaudy cosmetics and powders that nearly had her sneezing.

Nothing, she had found nothing.

Don't panic, she reminded herself, trying to soothe the rising sense of dread that was beginning to surround her, Panic will do you no good.

Glancing around the room, Celeste clicked her tongue as she evaluated any possible escape route. Her eyes lingered on the one small port window in the wall above her head, a thin sliver of moon barely visible through the wispy clouds obscuring the night sky.

She glanced back through the door towards the ridiculous bed with all its draperies and sashes and then down towards the discarded gown and its ridiculous ruffles, quirking her head as an idea began to form.

* * *

Fallon let out a growl that had the hair on Gandriel's arms raising as the captain stomped past him and up onto the deck of the Siren, her auburn hair flaming as the first true light of morning slipped through the clouds.

"Absolute foolishness from all of you," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest as she turned and leaned against the railing of the ship. "It's a miracle none of you are dead. You must have encountered some ripe idiots for such a half-assed plan to have been successful."

Gandriel tried to hide the flinch as the fuming female held his gaze, her sharp hazel eyes boring into him. He swore Vaerek sent him a sympathetic look from his position next to his captain.

"It was the only way we could free Anelisse without having to fight our way out," Gandriel reminded, crossing his arms as well and raising his chin defiantly. "And I refuse to let two children be sold like . . . pets." Fallon scowled at him for a moment more, then sighed and rubbed at her head in resignation.

"Still doesn't mean it was a good idea, she's liable to get herself killed."

Vaerek gave a pointed cough that had Fallon's head snapping upwards, scowl returning as she raised an eyebrow at first mate. Gandriel was glad to not be on the receiving end of that look.

The human remained unfazed.

"You've no room to talk," he reminded, running a hand across his stubbled chin with a shrug. "This plan holds more water than the majority of ones you've executed in the past year. If she can infiltrate any of the trade ships and get information it could be a turning point in all of this."

"That's neither here nor there," Fallon quipped back, narrowing her eyes at him, "it was my life on the line then, not someone else's. And need I remind you, I've come out of all of my schemes with my hide more than intact."

Vaerek only gave Fallon a knowing look that elicited a long sigh from the woman as she finally dropped her glare. Instead she settled for plucking her large hat from her head and shaking it sharply, sending droplets of water shimmering into the sunlight.

"So, what now?" Gandriel inquired, flicking his gaze over his shoulder towards a soaked Anelisse toweling off in a corner of the deck, accompanied by a flustered Koda standing by with many more linens than could ever possibly be needed to dry such a petite girl. Marrien and James had been shuffled below deck for hot baths and warm food by a sweet-faced human woman.

"We set sail, we can't wait here any longer," Fallon replied matter-of-factly, turning her sharp gaze toward the ocean. "We've thoroughly scouted the coast already and we'll compromise ourselves if we remain any longer. Without that rain to cover us we're likely to be spotted. We can't afford to have them completely change the trade routes."

"Absolutely not," Anelisse's sweet voice interjected as she pushed the towel she'd been drying her hair with off onto Koda as she made her way up onto the deck, having clearly been eavesdropping on the conversation, "I absolutely refuse to leave my sister, we can't just abandon her-"

"Celeste made her choice," Fallon replied coolly, watching Anelisse with knowing eyes, "and now she will have to follow through on that choice. The only thing we can do now is wait and watch, and provide support when and if we can."

Anelisse's lip puckered in a way that Gandriel had already learned meant trouble, before she turned her face to the side and let out a frustrated growl.

"You would not be so complacent if it were you sister trapped with those rapists and murderers." The girl spoke quietly but not weakly, and Gandriel's instincts flared at the tone of those words.

"Wrong," Fallon replied, casually leaning further back against the railing and shaking out her damp hair. Anelisse snapped her head up and gave a surprisingly fae-like snarl.

The captain only offered a small smile in response. "If I had a sister like that who was willing to risk everything to save innocent people I'd let her give it her best shot." Fallon pushed off the railing and walked lazily towards Anelisse before stopping before her, her hands planted on her hips. "She made a choice to try and save those people and if Celeste is anything like I suspect, she'll be downright furious if we compromise that. Am I wrong?"

Anelisse shook her head, her cheeks puffing out in irritation.

"I didn't think so. Besides," Fallon clapped a hand on the girl's slim shoulder with a grin. "We've finally got a person on the inside and with any luck she'll be able to gather the information we've been unable to obtain. Regardless of how poorly conceived your plan was, thanks to the three of you, we may finally get the upper hand on these bastards." Anelisse's shoulders slumped as she let out a breath, finally giving the captain a weak smile as she nodded.

Fallon stepped back and looked out across the sea, her eyes bright. "Vaerek, get the men moving, I want us out of the harbor in the next half hour before the sun's fully risen." She turned toward Anelisse and Gandriel. "And I want you two to follow me, I've a letter I need to draft."

* * *

Bracing her feet against the hull of the ship, Celeste firmly gripped the makeshift rope she had fashioned from her gown and the many draperies and sheets Rufus had found it necessary to wrap his bed in. Letting out a slow breath and trying not to glance down at the waves crashing beneath her, she adjusted her grip and took another step down.

The leather satchel she had stolen swung to and fro as she lowered herself from the port window she had easily and silently shattered, the end of her rope secured by the heavy wooden vanity in the powder room.

Carefully she inched her way down the side of the ship, seeking purchase against the hull's slippery side, salty mist stinging her eyes.

Nice and easy, she reminded herself as she shuffled her feet downwards little by little, Just don't slip.

After several achingly long moments she caught sight of a porthole of a window beneath her. She eased herself down to carefully perch herself on the window's narrow frame, her slick boots nearly sliding out from beneath her. Tentatively she tapped the window with her boot, testing its thickness.

It'd have to do.

Bracing her feet, she wrapped the excess rope hanging beneath her around her waist tightly, before taking a deep breath and sharply pushing away from the side of the ship. As she swung back, she snapped her feet together and shielded her face as her boots easily shattered the fragile glass, her momentum sending her narrow frame flying through the window into the corridor.

Celeste hit the floor with a thud, hissing as broken glass crunched beneath her. She rolled to her feet, shaking the shards off of her and pausing as she listened.

Miraculously the hallway she'd landed in appeared empty, and it seemed no one had heard the smashing of the glass.

She plucked the dinner knife from the bag and began creeping down the corridor, still listening. She rounded two corners before the clinking of mail shifting against cloth met her ears.

Tentatively sniffing, she caught the scent of mortal blood and the crisp, repulsive hint of ash.

She was close to the guards that were watching Naita.

Celeste tightened her hold on the knife and crept toward them, willing cool calm to hold her. She'd have to move quickly and silently.

The guards had no time to react as she slipped from behind the corner and drove the blade into the first man's throat before twisting and throwing herself into the other guard, her hands shooting for his neck.

He didn't have a chance to move before she crushed his trachea, a weak dying wheeze escaping his throat. Celeste rose on shaking knees and turned to face Naita who had watched the scuffle with gleaming eyes.

"Took you long enough, layl."

Celeste snorted before she quickly strode into the room, quietly shutting the door behind her, hiding the guards' bodies should anyone walk past. She pulled out the leather-pommeled whip from her bag and tossed it towards Naita. The female caught the weapon with ease even with her shackled hands, a delighted grin gracing her scaled lips.

"I was a bit preoccupied with my dinner date." Celeste pulled the faebane key free, supplying a wicked grin in response to Naita's. "Read what you did to those men who took you too." She shoved the key into the lock and, with a click, the shackles slid to the floor. She quickly kicked the cursed things to the side, not wanting to touch them more than necessary. "Think you can do that again?"

"It would be my pleasure," Naita said with an airy chuckle as she quickly rose to her full height, a few inches taller than Celeste, her shoulders broader and stronger. "I will not be so careless this time. Shall we?"

The Naagalata female motioned towards the door. Celeste shook her head.

"I'm going to release the prisoners below deck," she responded, her shoulders tensing as she heard the approaching footsteps and distant murmurs as the shattered glass was discovered. "We'll need backup if we intend to take the ship."

Naita gave an amused snort. "if you believe so, layl. I will meet you above deck." And with that the viper disappeared through the doorway in a whisper of dark cloth and silent footsteps.

Celeste only felt a bit sorry for the unsuspecting guards when she heard the first screams around the corner.

Slipping from the room, Celeste took a moment to glance down the narrow hall before wrapping around the way opposite from which she came. Taking the creaking stairs two at time, she quickly began her descent down into the depths of the ship, making her way towards the locked door at the base. The dozing guard outside jumped at her approach. He scrambled upright, fumbling for the dagger on his hip as he opened his mouth to give a shout of warning. It never came as Celeste easily overtook him, his bones snapping beneath her hands like crumpled paper.

Letting his body slump to the side, she threw the door open and was met with the overwhelming scent of unwashed humans and the surprised gasps of the dirty but familiar occupants taking in her arrival.

From the back, Layla let out a loud sob of relief.

"I have no time to explain," Celeste began rapidly, quickly assessing the most efficient means of freeing them as all eyes landed on her with disbelief and desperation. "But if you want to live then you need to trust me. We're going to have to fight our way out."

Frowning, she knelt and examined the chains of the person closes to her, young Eoin Lingard. Like the others, his wrists were shackled in iron, with chains leading to a ring bolted into the floor. She had no doubt that the guard in the doorway held the key to each of the chains, but the time it would take to undo each one-

Eoin watched as she lifted his shackled hands, soft brown eyes wide. With a snap, she broke off his chains, the iron peeling apart in her grip. The boy nearly squeaked in surprise as the twisted metal crumbled from his wrists.

"Eoin," she began, catching the gaze of the young fisherman who had tailed her like a puppy at the docks, "Get the key out of the guard's pocket and start unshackling the others. We need to move quickly."

He immediately nodded his understanding, his familiar crooked grin breaking across his freckled face as he scrambled to his feet and rushed off to the doorway, his long legs carrying him across the room in a few strides.

At least he wouldn't betray her immediately.

Celeste went around the small cabin, seeing to the captives' chains and receiving various thanks and praises as she freed each resident of Vanica. The humility and kindness many of them had never shown her.

She paid it no attention.

Kneeling before Layla, Celeste made quick work of the iron about the woman's wrists before being stopped as Layla laid a grimy, mud caked hand on her forearm.

"Thank you," she murmured, her blue eyes bright as she looked up at her savior. "I was wrong about you. About your . . . kind."

Celeste shook her head and helped the woman up. "Later," she told her firmly but not rudely, "we'll have time for this discussion later." If they made it out of this in one piece.

Layla nodded before rushing off to help the others, each searching for some kind of weapon to wield.

Celeste had freed all of the captives, many familiar faces but some that were not, before she knelt by the last prisoner who leaned against the wall, watching her fondly.

"I'm sorry," Celeste began gently as she broke the chains from Pennelope's wrists, her once-beautiful blue gown a dingy brown. "I wish I could have done something to stop this-"

Pennelope's arms immediately enveloped the girl, the woman's shoulders quivering as she pulled her close.

"I could hit you for being such a fool," she hissed, her voice shaking, "risking yourself in such a way for us." She pushed back from Celeste, her pretty round face soaked in tears. "I'm so glad you are in one piece, but if we survive this expect an earful, child."

Celeste could only smile in response, offering her hand out to the seamstress and helping her rise. "I would expect nothing less."

* * *

Celeste let out one slow breath as she held her hand up, motioning for the men she had selected from the captives to halt, giving them each a moment to right themselves. She had chosen the biggest and the strongest to follow her, knowing they would face their greatest challenge on deck where the majority or the guards and crew awaited them.

She had sent the other captives to clear the hallways and rooms in the hold, to subdue and keep the maids and other general servants in place while they faced the guards. There had been no signs of Naita in below deck.

She could only hope the naagalata had fared well and awaited her above.

Glancing over her shoulder she locked eyes with Eoin, bearing a half-rotted oar as a weapon, before nodding, indicating for them to move forward.

Inching up the stairs she caught the first tell-tale sounds of combat, the clashing of metal and screams of dying men-

Brandishing her dinner knife, Celeste rushed the door, the sailors from Vanica bellowing their war cries behind her. Stepping on deck, she stopped short, her eyes widening in disbelief.

Naita had obliterated the entirety of the guard force aboard the ship, easily forty armed men. Most lay sprawled across the deck, their armor torn to ribbons no doubt by the whip that Naita bore, either moaning in agony or lying silent and still.

Said whip lay discarded near the mast, however, as Celeste spotted her new friend at the rail of the ship. Her hood obscured her features as she picked up her final adversary, a large, squealing guard, by the scruff of his neck and promptly tossed him overboard, his surprisingly girlish scream silenced by a loud splash.

The female simply brushed her gloved hands against one another before pivoting on her heel and catching sight of Celeste.

The assassin offered her a cheeky grin, fangs flashing in the moonlight as she propped her bloodied hands on her hips.

"I told you help would be unnecessary, layl."


	31. A New Captain

"Would you stop fidgeting? You keep waking me up." Gandriel grumbled from his end of the overstuffed plush couch he was sharing with Anelisse in the captain's quarters. He laid with his arms wrapped about a plum cushion, his sock-clad toes resting lazily against the wall over the couch's back.

"Your very presence is sickening to me, but you don't hear me complaining like a fishwife." Anelisse snapped back, wrinkling her nose at his feet by her face as she adjusted her legs from a folded to a crossed position for the umpteenth time that evening.

Gandriel only rolled his eyes and muttered sleepily before rolling over onto his side, stuffing his face back into the velvety cushion. Not two minutes had passed before soft snores began to emanate from behind the fabric.

Anelisse resisted the urge to kick him onto the floor. She pulled the blanket that had fallen from her shoulders across her legs and hips, unable to sit still.

She let out a soft sigh.

Two days had passed since her escape from Rainefelle and she could not bring herself to settle. She'd barely slept since the captain had shuffled them into her quarters and wrung every detail about the tunnels from their minds. Rest had still evaded her, even after Fallon had offered her thanks and told them to make themselves at home.

She hadn't eaten, only idly stirred the soup that the blonde boy had served her with pink-tinged cheeks. She'd barely registered his bashfulness around her, couldn't remember his name, only that he'd bid her to sleep and that they were safe.

As if.

Resting was the last thing on her mind.

Finally giving up and rising from the plush couch, she silently made her way to the doorway, her mind an ever-increasing whirlwind of fear as she mulled over what had become of her sister. On whether she still lived or if those vile men had tried to do anything to her.

She should have never let her talk her into such a foolish plan.

Easing up the stairs, Anelisse heard the soft murmuring of the crew as they settled for sleep, their voices hushed and indiscernible. She vaguely wondered if Celeste would have been able to make out their words with ease.

Wondered if her immortal life was worth more than all of the hateful humans she'd set out to rescue.

She made quick work of the stairs leading up to the deck and let out a sigh of reprieve as the sea air brushed across her face, soothing the storm that threatened to boil over inside. She strode quickly for the railing of the ship, wanting to watch the ocean roll as she let her mind wander.

She'd settled against the rail and was lost in the lapping of the waves when a soft clearing of a throat sounded behind her.

"May I join you?" Anelisse slowly turned and met the dark eyes of the first mate - Vaerek if she recalled correctly. His handsome face and strikingly straight nose were barely discernable in the faint moonlight filtering through the clouds. His gaze flickered across her features as he waited patiently for a response.

She nodded her confirmation, scooting over to allow the man to stand next to her as she tightened her blanket about her shoulders.

"The winds are calm tonight. It makes for slow progress," Vaerek's deep voice rumbled after a time as he braced himself against the rail, eyes cast out towards the ocean. "But it also makes for peaceful nights."

Anelisse didn't respond, shifting the blanket from her shoulders to about her middle.

The first mate's gaze didn't leave the waves.

"It's said on nights when the winds are quiet the Mother watches her children on the sea the closest," he quirked his head towards Anelisse, "and that she lies in wait, holding her breath and listening, ready to turn the winds in the direction they are needed most."

"Most humans don't believe in the Mother," Anelisse muttered, glancing down at her hands, at her mother's silver ring that Celeste had retrieved for her. Her first gift from the Children of the Blessed. "It's a purely fae concept."

"Maybe, but we live in a world where human and fae are no longer separate." He scratched thoughtfully at his chin. "It's not surprising some customs have transferred. It's about time we humans had something to believe in, after all."

"Humans loathed the fae." Anelisse thought back on the hatred her sister had faced, on the ignorance that even their mother had shown her. "I don't see why that would change." It never had for Celeste, no matter how many years she had lived among them.

"Some, not all," Vaerek shifted his attention towards the bow of the ship where Fallon stood watching, her dark silhouette only distinguishable by her hat. "Some are wise enough to know that living beings are all the same, no matter the minute differences they like to draw between themselves. I believe the same can be said of you and your sister."

"We're different," Anelisse muttered, dropping her gaze. "We were raised together, love one another-"

"And you don't think that can be true for other fae and humans?"

"I-I think that…" she paused, her voice trailing, "I think that I've never seen it before. I think that I've seen enough hatred to fill me for a lifetime. The hatred Celeste faced was blind and foolish and wrongly placed. I think she's too good to have risked herself for men so full of hate."

And there it was.

"Were they all so terrible?"

Pennelope's face flashed through her mind. She refused to answer.

"Do you want to know what I think, Anelisse?"

She barely nodded her head.

"That I don't blame you for that skepticism, for that hatred that what you love so dearly is risking herself to save those that don't seem to deserve it." He paused rubbing at a callous on his thumb. "It wasn't very long ago that I saw that hatred firsthand, nearly lost myself to it. But then one day something happened that changed all of that, that showed me we really are no different."

His eyes hadn't left Fallon.

"Do you love her?" Anelisse found herself asking, watching his gaze, thinking of the beauty of the auburn-haired woman.

Vaerek made an unexpected choking noise that had a blush racing across her cheeks as embarrassment filled her.

"No! No, not like . . . that." He shook his head, looking uncomfortable. "Fallon's like a . . . daughter to me. I met her when she was very small and I've watched after her since." He cleared his throat. "Think of it this way: I love her in the way a parent might love a loud, obnoxious, unruly child."

Anelisse couldn't help but grin at that.

"So, what are your thoughts on the Mother then?" she inquired, her shoulders loosening as the whirlwind within her began to ease.

"I believe that a greater force must exist." Vaerek turned away from the rail and crossed his arms, leaning his hip against the smooth wood. "Too much in my life has been orchestrated in a way that spells out more than coincidence. Even meeting you, Gandriel, and your sister had its purpose."

"Oh, how so?"

"It reminded me that there are good people still in this world, human and fae alike." Anelisse turned her head toward the first mate, "That there are those still willing to fight for the right things, even at the expense of themselves."

He clapped a hand on her shoulder with a smile. "I'm not so foolish as to make you a promise about your sister's well-being, but if more people were willing to do the right thing this world wouldn't be so bleak."

Anelisse had opened her mouth to respond when a loud, hissing curse sounded across the deck of the Siren, closely followed by the thudding of Fallon's boots as she strode toward them. Vaerek went ramrod straight as he watched her approach, brow crinkling.

"What is it?" he asked tensely, hand resting on the dagger at his hip.

"We've got a ship headed on a course straight for us," Fallon growled as she stopped in front of them, gritting her jaw in annoyance, "and they're not slowing. We've bound to have a fight on our hands, get the others up." The captain cast a look at Anelisse. "And you, go below deck-"

"Not a chance," she replied, setting her hands firmly on her hips. "Where do you need me?"

Fallon didn't even bother arguing.

* * *

Anelisse stood next to Gandriel on the bow of the ship, her shoulders tight as the ship Fallon had spotted sped toward them, its gilded trim reflected in the still ocean.

Gandriel let out a sleepy snort of annoyance.

"Wouldn't it be easier for me to just change the wind's course and send them off into the opposite direction?" he inquired, blinking groggily at the captain.

"As convenient as that could be, there's a chance we need the information this ship might be carrying," She flipped her freshly braided hair over a shoulder, "So, we'll do this the old-fashioned way."

She rose a hand above her head motioning for a flag to be raised, the grey one that Fallon had briefly explained bartered neutrality, neither a sign of surrender or friendliness. Anelisse knew she didn't expect the same in response.

If we're lucky, the captain had chirped to her, they'll at least give us a warning flag before engaging us in combat.

And if we're not? She'd asked in response as she'd quickly dressed in the leather pants and lace-up shirt Fallon had procured for her from her own closet.

Then you'll want to duck quickly.

The Captain had told her they were more likely to cross a ship full of enemies rather than allies in these parts and it was wise to keep one's eyes sharp and blade sharper.

Anelisse swallowed as she brushed a hand over the gaudy weapon she'd killed Lukas with, the one that she'd stuffed into her gown and used to escape the guards as she tried to get back to Celeste.

She had a feeling she'd be using it many times yet. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to be afraid of it.

Not with her sister's life in the balance.

The thought had her spine straightening as she waited silently with the rest of the Siren's crew, watching.

The ship before them had finally pulled to a stop, its magnificent detailing brilliant even in the faint moonlight. The intricate mermaid figurehead at the helm certainly seemed to speak of the wealth the ship's captain likely possessed.

Somehow Anelisse was not under the impression it was a merchant vessel.

After several long minutes of silence broken only by indiscernible shouts from the deck, a single piece of fabric was lofted into the air, rapidly ascending as the other ship's crew hoisted it.

A single white flag, signaling surrender or peace.

Anelisse blinked in confusion and snapped her head towards Fallon.

"What in the blazing fires of hell-" the captain began, but was cut short when a loud yell echoed from the other ship, a small feminine figure beginning to jump up and down at the bow, waving her arms about wildly.

The woman's features were obscured in the dark, but Anelisse's stomach knotted, dropping when suddenly Fallon let out a cackle of delight.

"By the Mother, it's Celeste!" She turned to her crew, the tension instantly slipping from her shoulders. "Pull the ship alongside! She actually managed it."

Fallon clapped a hand on Anelisse's shoulder and flashed her a pleased smirk before sauntering off across the deck, her crew following in her wake with relieved chuckles.

Something in Anelisse cracked as she raced towards the rail of the ship and squinted, trying to see the tell-tale violet of her sister's eyes. It was no use, of course, but it didn't matter.

She swiped uselessly at her eyes before glancing back towards a relieved looking Gandriel and Vaerek who smiled knowingly at her before trotting off to help the rest of the crew.

"It's Fallon!" Celeste called in relief to the exhausted fisherman who had scrambled to find a white cloth and hoist it quickly in the darkness. She hopped down from her place at the bow. "They're allies, we're safe. Let them pull alongside and board."

The fisherman gave a loud cheer as they looked at one another and grinned widely. They quickly began preparing the ship for boarding, tying the lines and furling the sails.

Celeste couldn't help the jolt of joy and relief that rushed through her at the sight. She let out a long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, glancing over one more time at Anelisse's petite blonde frame between Fallon and Gandriel.

The dolt had kept his promise.

For the first time in week Celeste felt peace take her. She made no attempt to resist it.

"You've done us all a great service layl," Naita offered from her perch next to Celeste, the assassin's mouth set in a wide grin, "There are none here who will forget it."

Celeste ignored the implication.

"Need I remind you that you're the one who annihilated an entire squadron of guards? You're the one who should be thanked." It had taken them a few hours to dispose of the bodies of the guards and to contain the ones Naita hadn't killed.

She felt only a small pang of jealousy for her new friend's skill.

Naita only shook her head, denying the claim. She opted to change the subject instead, "Once we make port I will need to leave immediately and return to my sisters. I am certain they are impatiently waiting my arrival."

"Would they have come looking for you if they'd found out you'd be captured?"

"Most certainly," Naita adjusted the scarf about her head and secured a stray dark curl, "and it would have spelt disaster for any in their path. It is best that this was the means to my release."

Celeste nodded her understanding, a tinge of sadness coloring her mind at the departure of the assassin.

As though sensing those thoughts Naita pulled a coin from her sleeve, presenting it to Celeste.

"What is this?" she reached out a tentative hand for the object.

"A gift," Naita placed the cool, tarnished bit of metal in Celeste's palm. "If ever you seek refuge you will be welcome amongst the Naagalata. We reside to the northern winds of the continent, amidst the great desert ruins. You need only present that coin and you will be granted safe passage and shelter."

Celeste felt her throat constrict and ignored it as she pocketed the coin. "Thank you."

"Again, you owe me no thanks, uhkti," Naita reminded, pressing her shoulder into the wooden beam behind her, turning her face skyward. Her luminous eyes twinkled as the starlight reflected in them.

"'Uhkti'?" Celeste inquired, watching the Naagalata female.

"Sister," Naita smiled faintly. "You faced danger in my stead and risked your life for my own, I could consider you no less, layl."

Celeste rubbed at her arm awkwardly, uncertain how to respond to such sincerity and comradery. She settled instead for asking another question.

"Then . . . 'layl' . . . what does that mean?"

Naita took a moment to consider, turning her slitted gaze to consider Celeste curiously before answering.

"Night."

* * *

Gandriel had never expected the wave of knee-wobbling relief that had hit him when he'd spotted Celeste on that ship. The tightness throat eased instantly. Unable to resist, he took a step toward the gangplank that had been strung between the ships, but was cut off by high-pitched shrieks from behind him.

A grin overcame his face as Marrien and James broke into a full-on sprint towards Layla as they crossed to the other ship, the woman letting out a sob and falling to her knees, arms outstretched, at the sight of her children.

He watched as they collided with her, tears dripping down her face as she pulled them close and held tightly to them both.

Something that had been tight in Gandriel's chest eased as he watched the reunion, the wound that had formed in his heart at the sight of Vanica beginning to mend over.

To his surprise, Layla then turned her attention to him, murmuring "thank you" through her tears, again and again. He couldn't hide the blush that crept up his cheeks. It only grew worse once Marrien winked at him and whispered to her mother that he was her knight in shining armor.

A grin overtook his face. So, maybe he was a little bit of a hero. It was a title he could certainly get used to.

His preening at his new designation stopped when he saw the hug Anelisse swept Celeste in upon seeing her. The blonde had tackled her sister with such force that both girls had tumbled the deck of the ship, the former clinging to the latter with a grip that even Gandriel wasn't certain he could break.

He stood and watched awkwardly as Anelisse pulled Celeste upright and soundly scolded her, tears leaking openly down her pale cheeks.

Celeste only rolled her eyes at the show of it all.

Gandriel continued to hang back by the rail as a human woman in a dingy blue gown enveloped both girls into tight hug, pressing them close. A human male stood close by and watched, a small smile on his face.

He felt his smile slowly fade as he watched them, keenly aware of the lack of people in his life that would have done the same for him. There was his mother, of course . . .

He tried to not let his thoughts leech back to her.

His brooding was cut short when Celeste finally rose on steady legs and made her way towards him, smiling as she approached.

"I suppose this means I owe you thanks," she quipped at him, her violet eyes bright and her mouth pulled into a smirk, "though that would imply that you were useful in some way."

Gandriel only smiled in response, rubbing at the back of his head. "I'm just glad you're all right." He paused, swallowing as he intently studied the weathered boards at his feet. "I am sorry I brought you into this mess-"

Celeste punched him lightly in the stomach, immediately halting his apology as an "oomph" escaped him.

"You got my sister out, let's call it even," she smiled up at him, the first true grin he believed he'd ever seen on her face. "Besides, we've got work to do so don't think you're abandoning ship yet."

"Oh?" Gandriel inquired, trying not to let his hopes rise too quickly as Celeste made her way past him toward Fallon who watched the milling captives from a distance. Like a trained hound, he quickly followed.

Fallon raised her hand in greeting to Celeste, the serious expression she'd worn minutes before relaxed into her usual lazy grin.

Celeste wasted no time as she handed a roll of papers to the captain. "These might prove to be of some use to you. To . . . us."

Fallon gave her a look before quickly began thumbing through the documents, her eyes widening with each page she scanned. She lifted her gaze back to Celeste, shock and what seemed to be utter delight dancing across her features.

She quickly handed the roll off to Vaerek who had not-so-subtly been craning to see the papers over her shoulder. A bark of surprise escaped him as he flipped through the documents.

Fallon's eyes burned like fire.

"What's your price for the information?"

Celeste only gave a smirk, the one the that always had Gandriel's hair rising on his neck. "I want the Loreley and in on the hunt. Dermot's final blow is mine. You think you could manage with a few more allies?"

Celeste sent Gandriel a pointed look that immediately had him straightening himself, followed by a softer glance at Anelisse who had appeared on his left.

Fallon let out a high laugh of delight before she threw her hand out and clamped Celeste's, shaking it hard.

"Welcome to the company, Captain." Fallon swiped the papers back from Vaerek, who grumbled, grinning so broadly Gandriel thought her face might split in two. "Oh, my dear Celeste, I think you've just won this war for us. I'll need to add this to my letter," She looked at them, her smile still gleaming. "And you three have just earned yourselves a celebration like no other."

* * *

Fallon strutted victoriously all the way back to her cabin, doing her best to ignore the wheeling of the walls about her. Useless things her senses were when the bulk of the wine hit her system.

No matter, three bottles of the wine to herself was the only acceptable response to the accomplishment that had just been achieved. And by her lovely new friend, no, fellow captain, no less.

She nodded her head to her crew as they crawled to their hammocks, though some appeared to have decided that sleeping on the floor was the better option than the daunting trek back to their cabins. She didn't particularly blame them.

The party had wound down after several long hours of drunken revelry after the appointment of the Loreley's new fearless leader and its newest less-than-fearless first mate.

At least Gandriel was pretty.

Flicking the door to her room open, Fallon sauntered into her elegant lodgings, the ledgers and maps Celeste had acquired in hand.

The new captain had nearly just handed them their victory.

She could have kissed the girl.

Plopping down on her plush chair, Fallon carefully removed her plum velvet hat and hung it lovingly on the corner of her mirror before pulling a fresh sheet of parchment free and dipping her peacock quill into violet ink.

She quickly drafted the note, her elegant, curling script dancing across the pages in her signature color. Glancing through it thrice she decided it was adequate, sanded the ink, and plucked an ornate vial of perfume from her dressed, letting several drops fall onto the letter.

No sense in him forgetting that she smelled lovely, although she was certain he undoubtedly remembered. It had been too long since she'd seen him in any case.

She read through it once more, grinning at the prospects the note entailed.

 _To my dearest foxy face,_

 _I send correspondence concerning vital information pertaining to our most recent discovery regarding our merchant friends. My excellent sources have stumbled upon information that could be the key to striking a critical blow against our opponents. I've also made some lovely new friends who've acquired quite the vessel, the glorious Loreley, and are willing to assist in our endeavors - given due compensation of course. I do hope our dear High Lords are willing to loosen those purse strings a bit. Meet me at your earliest convenience and do bring that lovely jade doublet of yours, it offsets your hair so nicely. I still have that bottle of chardonnay you swore we'd share, Lucien._

 _Best,_

 _Your flawless Fallon_

Rolling the parchment, she carefully secured it with a fine red ribbon before stepping back on deck and whistling one of her faithful ravens down from her perch on the rigging.

The bird cocked her head as Fallon tied the scroll to her leg with a bit of scarlet ribbon. "You know who it goes to, pretty."

And with that, she released the raven into the crisp morning air.


	32. Butterflies of Water

Celeste felt her stomach lurch as she clung with her very being to the deck of the ship— _her_ ship- pleading the sky to pick a position and stay there. It did her no good. She let out a pained moan.

She would never drink again so long as she lived.

Closing her eyes in the hopes the world might stop spinning if she couldn't see it, she propped herself upright and immediately felt the contents of her stomach slosh dangerously before rushing up into her esophagus. She clamped her lips shut and decided sprawling flat on the deck was perhaps her best option after all.

 _Just take it nice and easy_ , she placated her revolting stomach, trying to focus on the cool, salty breeze that danced across her nose. She could make out the varying groans and sounds of retching from the other members of her "crew" around her.

Daring to peek open an eye again, Celeste hissed at the sunlight burning her retinas, blinding her. Glancing around she caught no sight of that elaborate plum hat that she'd spent most of the night eyeballing.

This was Fallon's fault, entirely Fallon's fault.

She'd broken out numerous bottles and kegs of alcohol upon anchoring their ships off the coast between Rainefell and Portmouth, celebrating the _Loreley's_ new captain and the freedom that the captives had won. The woman had insisted that everyone was to partake and that "no" was not an acceptable answer.

Celeste still wasn't certain how the auburn-haired captain had managed to coerce her into drinking, one minute she'd been refusing a glass of wine and the next she'd been sitting on the deck laughing as Gandriel stumbled to and fro, reciting a tale that she vaguely remembered involving a plucked chicken and three socks.

That woman was indeed a tyrant and a damn good con-artist.

The world lurched again and Celeste let out a long, slow breath.

She'd pour every damned bottle of liquor off the boat once she got upright. If she could get upright.

A snore distinctly resembling that of a boar rumbled behind her and she didn't need to look to know it was Gandriel, sprawled out where he'd fallen sound asleep the night before. Anelisse lay across her legs, drool beginning to seep into the calf of her pants.

Celeste couldn't bring herself to care.

She had never received so many embraces or thanks from the people of Vanica, people who had once showed her such disdain. It had felt rather out of place.

Anelisse laughing so hard that she puked down the front of Gandriel's shirt, however, did not. She'd relished the reconciliation that she and her sister had shared the previous night, as each had been able to tell their side of the story in full, the others having fallen silent around them.

There was more she needed to tell her. The truth, the entire truth.

Bracing herself she rolled over onto her stomach, easing herself from under Anelisse, and forced herself upright, nearly stumbling as the world righted itself around her. She hoped if she vomited it'd be all over Fallon's precious hat.

No, in it.

She'd vomit inside that plum velvet monstrosity and use the feather as a napkin.

She was never drinking again.

Making her way across the deck she carefully maneuvered around the sleeping sailors of Vanica before opening the door to the Captain's quarters - her quarters.

Opening the door, she was suddenly reminded of what exactly she'd . . . "inherited." She made a face at the monstrosity of a bed, still stripped of many of its linens, although now lacking the corpse at the foot. She'd certainly need to dispose of that and have it replaced as soon as she had the means. Maybe she'd be able to convince one of her newly-hired maids to assist in its removal.

It turned out that many of the ship's crew hadn't been very fond of their weasel-like captain either, considering most had been slaves themselves. Those who hadn't fought had easily surrendered and agreed to work for Celeste, especially when she'd returned with news that a salary would be implemented.

She wasn't certain she wanted to know who exactly was going to be supplying that coin, especially with Fallon in charge of collecting it.

It didn't matter to her in any case, coin was coin.

Celeste made her way into the bathing room of her suite, eyeing the claw-foot tub large enough for two that took up the majority of the room. She stopped short as the young maid who had helped her from her dress only a few nights before bustled past her, carrying a pail of steaming water from the fire in the other room.

The human girl, Millie, if she remembered correctly, jumped slightly at the sight of her before hiding her face and swiftly dumping the bucket into the nearly-full bathtub. She must have started preparing the bath for quite some time ago.

The soft hint of floral oils flited past Celeste's nose.

"Sorry m'lady-" Millie began, nervously bouncing from foot to foot, "I just thought you'd want a proper bath after the last few days and with what ye've done for us and all . . ." Her voice tapered off as a blush rose to her cheeks.

Celeste smiled faintly.

"I'm not a lady, but I won't say no to the bath." She noticed the steam wafting up from the tub, "I'll be sure to remember this when the coin comes in for your pay. Thank you."

"N-no need for thanks." Millie brushed her dark curls out her face, her round, freckled cheeks widening in a smile. "It's nice to finally be . . . free. To not be that man's . . . pet any longer."

Darkness rumbled in Celeste.

She'd quickly discovered where most of those old worn dresses she'd found had come from. Apparently, Rufus had had a habit of collecting maidens for his personal use and disposing of them when he saw fit. Some, like Millie, became maids when he grew bored of them. Others . . . well.

Rufus hadn't suffered nearly enough.

The satisfaction she'd felt in helping Naita chuck his corpse overboard felt inadequate now.

"And you won't be again," Celeste offered, nodding her head towards the young woman, "I will see to that personally."

"Oh, t-thank you, milad-Captain!" She gave a small curtsey. "Please, let me know if there's anything else I can do for you."

"I will. Thank you again, Millie."

The girl slipped out the door, shutting it behind her, as Celeste's mind drifted to Adder and Martha. She needed to find where they'd fled too, to let them know Vanica had been freed, not that there was anything left to return to . . .

Celeste looked forward to acquiring that coin, especially if it was enough to pay back her debts with high interest. Enough that Adder and Martha could build a home again.

She hoped wherever they were that they were safe, pushing away the image of the smashed iron figurines outside of their small cottage, and the intrigue they'd woken in her when she'd first seen them when she was small.

She'd make sure they'd have those again too. Even if they were for "warding off" fae.

She huffed a laugh.

Moaning, Celeste slipped into the large tub, the heat driving the remaining pounding from her skull. She sunk down to her shoulders, propping her neck against the porcelain rim. She could get used to this.

Her mind faded finally into sweet silent bliss and she smiled a little, relishing the peace, barely registering the sound of the door of the bathing chamber clicking open. She cracked an eye open at the rustling of clothes hitting the floor, then closed it again as Anelisse crawled into the tub with her.

She wasn't the least bit surprised at the interruption, only grunting before scooting over, her eyes still closed as she felt her sister settle opposite of her.

"So this is what a hangover feels like," Anelisse grumbled as she splashed her face with water, shuddering as the heat soaked away the residual inebriation. "Mother bless you for drawing this bath."

Celeste cracked open an eye. "It was Millie, not me."

"Well, Mother bless her," Anelisse muttered as she sunk deep into the tub, groaning in a way that wasn't entirely innocent. "Oh, this is wonderful. I've never been in a tub before."

Celeste felt a tendril of surprise race through her. "I'd forgotten."

"Hmm?"

"That you've never been in a bathtub before." She adjusted her legs to give her sister more room. "I forget sometimes."

"Well, this won't be the last time I use one," Anelisse gazed at Celeste through half-lidded silver eyes, "you can count on that. You're sharing this glorious porcelain wonderland."

Celeste snort, bracing her arms on the side of the tub and leaning her head back, raven locks pooling around her.

"Perhaps next time you can have your own bath without interrupting mine."

It was Anelisse's turn to snort. She lifted her foot and flicked water at Celeste, who hissed in annoyance as it splashed her in the face.

"Oh, hush you'll be fine, sharing is good for you. Besides, I'm in no condition to wait for my own to be drawn."

"Faerie wine hit you a bit hard last night, sister?"

Anelisse suppressed a gag at the mention of the bubbling beverage that Fallon had unearthed from the depths of her hold. She'd neglected to warn the blonde of the effects it would have on a human.

Celeste could only grin in response. "Try not to soil my bath with your regrets."

Anelisse shot Celeste a dirty look before splashing her again.

Celeste swatted at the foot assaulting her.

"Soooo," the blonde began, sloshing water onto her pale shoulders as she settled back into the depths of the bath, "Somehow we made it."

"Barely." Celeste scrubbed at her arms, removing the few flecks of blood and mud that still clung there.

"But we did." Anelisse shook her wet hair, sending droplets of water flying. "And you're now captain of your own vessel."

"Indeed."

"And you've got your own crew," a small snicker, "and a first mate, or should I say 'first moron'?"

"The latter is more accurate."

"Oh, he's not so bad," Celeste tilted her head at her sister, blinking in surprise she watched her sister loop a strand of her ashen locks about her finger, "he's quite nice to look at when he's being quiet."

Celeste couldn't help the smirk. "I thought you didn't like him."

"I don't," Anelisse shrugged, "but I'm not going to complain when I've got something to look at when he's not prattling on."

"Does that mean you don't want to kill him anymore?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

"I thought not." Celeste trailed her fingers through the water, watching the ripples glimmer in the ray of sunlight streaming through the tiny window. "Anelisse?"

"Yes?"

"I . . . I want to tell you something," Celeste swallowed as she watched her sister straighten, her half-dazed eyes suddenly sharper, "if you're willing to listen."

"I'm all ears."

Celeste watched the cooling steam rise through the air, willing to truth to her lips.

"Gandriel and I . . . we buried Anidre." Celeste swallowed past the knot in her throat and ignored the burning in her eyes. "We . . . we laid her to rest outside the cabin. I put your father's ring on her finger before . . . before . . ."

"I know." Celeste glanced up and watched the few tears that slipped from her sister's eyes as she toyed with the silver ring on her finger, the one from The Children of the Blessed, not the golden heirloom band she'd taken from their mother's decomposing form. "Gandriel told me while we waited with Fallon. Thank you."

Celeste didn't know if she could take another thank you. "This is my fault, you should be furious with me."

Anelisse shook her head and the sunlight glinted off the amethyst jewel that dangled just above her breasts, the one Celeste had given her during the Spring celebration-

"She made that choice, not you," Anelisse sniffed at swiped at her eyes fruitlessly, sighing in resignation. "She wasn't the same woman in the end; she wasn't our mother anymore."

". . . No, she was not," Celeste replied softly, "but I am still sorry."

"So am I," Anelisse leaned back, wafts of steam drifting around her as silent tears continued to pool. "I was so angry at her for what she'd done to you, to us . . . and Mother damn me for saying this, I am beyond thankful that it was you who survived." She took a heaving breath, "You are my only family. You've always been and will always be."

Celeste ignored the stinging at the corner of her eyes.

"But this, can we move on from this? Forget this?" The blonde splashed a handful of water onto her face and rubbed at it. "What's done is done, and I would like to move forward. There is life before us now, and we finally have a chance to start living it."

Celeste took a deep breath and swallowed. "Yes, but there is one more thing I need to tell you. The truth about my past."

Anelisse immediately straightened. Celeste paused, uncertain how to continue, if she should continue.

She felt her sister take her hand, her normally soft palms pruney.

"You can tell me anything," she prompted, putting her other hand atop Celeste's. "Anything, always."

Celeste blew out a breath, her mind swirling. _Now or never_.

"I'm the daughter of a fae lord from Pry . . . from the fae lands." She swallowed hard as the words began to tumble out. "I couldn't tell Anidre, I couldn't let her know who I was, to risk going back there."

Anelisse only crushed her palm in her own.

"T-they were all monsters, his entire court," Celeste barely noted the tears beginning to trail down her cheeks as foggy memories of terror surfaced, the cloudy faces that she couldn't place. "My father, he was a monster, a terrible beast . . ." A flash of leathery wings and cold wind filled her mind as pain suddenly split through her skull as it had through her wings as they were severed. "The scars on my back . . ." she took a breath, trying to clear her head, "I had wings once, they were ripped from me . . . he . . . my father . . . he took them from me."

Anelisse's hand had tightened to a death grip as she watched Celeste's face with an intensity and fury that nearly made her flinch. She pushed away the terror as the pain in her skull increased, the memories eddying in incomprehensible patterns.

"I-I barely survived, barely escaped," she whispered. ". . . After he ripped my wings he tossed me into the ocean, it was so cold and dark, so much pain as the water tore at me," a shuddering breath filled her, "and I remember nothing after it. I-I just woke up in Vanica." Her violet eyes flicked up and locked with Anelisse's wide silver gaze. "Even now so much of it has been blocked out. I can't remember anything but the terror. I don't even remember their faces."

A heavy silence filled the bath chamber.

"Did you have any other family?" Anelisse inquired gently, running her thumb over Celeste's palm, "Or was it just your . . . father." She struggled to get the word out.

"I-I don't remember," Tears streaked down Celeste's face as she fought to remember someone, anyone, "Sometimes I see faces, in dreams, a place that didn't seem so dark." She hissed as pain shot through her skull and pressed a palm flat across her forehead. "B-but the names, the identities . . . no, they never come to me. I know the place, I remember a beautiful city filled with light . . ." Her voice faded as vague memories began to contradict in her mind, the flitting sense of happiness that was always blotted out by the horror. "But I can never get close enough to remember anything specific."

"That was why I gave you the necklace," Celeste curled her hand weakly in her sister's vice-like grip, "because I don't want to remember it, don't want to see it . . . it marks me as one of them, and I don't know how, but I know that if they saw that necklace they would know it was me . . ." Her tears were dribbling into the cooling bath, sending little sprays as each plopped into the water. "And I cannot go back there. I _will not_ go back there. They will do worse things than kill me." A sob slipped past her lips, "He already took my wings and I will give him nothing more."

Celeste suddenly snapped her head upright as she locked gazes with Anelisse. "Please, you musn't tell anyone, absolutely no one-"

"Never," she squeezed Celeste's hand again, "it will never cross my lips. We will sail as far away from them as we have to. You will never have to see him again." The venom in Anelisse's voice made Celeste's skin prickle in fear.

Blinking past the tears Celeste felt herself start as the vision of butterflies crafted from water seemed to appear in the air, dancing overhead in a silent waltz.

She was hallucinating.

She felt her head grow light. "Anelisse, I need to get out of the tub." Gently prying her hand free from her sister's grip, Celeste scrambled from the tub and fumbled for one of the plush towels, chills beginning to rack her body as she wrapped the fabric around herself.

It felt coarse and wrong as the world around her began to wheel. She just needed to sit down-

The butterflies shifted from their waltz into great wriggling fish, swimming through the air, tossing and turning. The faint hint of jasmine became overwhelming.

Violet eyes flashed through her mind and the pealing laugh of a blonde-haired woman soaked her conscious-

"Hey, Celeste, are you-? Be careful-!"

Anelisse's warning words grew dim as Celeste felt the world blink out before her and the floor seemed to tumble out from beneath her. The pain in her head grew to such dizzying pressure that she felt nothing but sweet relief as the pile of plush towels rose up to meet her and her mind threw her into darkness.

* * *

Anelisse couldn't help the yelp of terror as she watched Celeste crumple, the stack of towels serving as a cushion for her head as it hit solidly against the wood.

Droplets of water scattered, soaking the floor as she leapt from the tub and rushed to her sister's side. She ran her hands running over her face, trying to rouse her, ensuring she was all right-

Celeste was the daughter of a faerie lord, and a monster at that.

Fury flitted through Anelisse as she took in the ugly marks across her sister's shoulders, the pieces all falling into place.

No wonder she'd been so adamant against returning, against telling their mother who she really was-

A knock pounded on the door.

"Hey, are you two alive in there?" Gandriel's muffled voice filtered through the wood, sounding rather groggy still, but concerned. "Did you drown each other-?"

Understanding suddenly filled Anelisse as she realized that no one, and certainly no other fae, could know who her sister was. Lies began to bloom on her lips.

"Oh, yes! Uh huh, we're just fine." She patted her sister's face, willing her to rouse. "Celeste just can't hold her wine and might have taken a little tumble—"

"Is she okay?" She heard Gandriel fumble with the knob, "Do I need to come in and help?"

Anelisse swatted at Celeste's face a little harder. "Oh no, we're fine!" Her heart pounded into a gallop. "Come on, Celeste . . ."

The rattling of the doorknob ceased, but she heard no footsteps. "Um, can you . . . ah . . . fetch me a blanket? She'll come to here in just a bit."

A muffled noise of assent sounded as Celeste's eyes finally began to flutter. Anelisse blew out a relieved breath and touched a hand to her throat, across the crystal pendant, as her sister blinked up at her, eyes foggy.

Resolve filled Anelisse as she smiled down at her. For the pain that Celeste had endured and the freedom that she had fought for - she'd see to it personally that she never lost it again.


	33. Wraiths of Winter

_(Feyre)_

 _I missed jumping out of the way in time as a tsunami of water full of bubbles and jasmine scented soap came crashing over the edge of the porcelain tub, soaking the entire front of my sweater and leggings._

 _"Ooops," a sweet, feather-light voice giggled._

 _I gaped down at the dripping fabric and pulled it free from where it clung to my stomach before looking up and locking gazes with my willful four-year-old, the sweet thing who had insisted on making waves in the bath._

 _I laughed._

 _"Ah," a blush raced up Celeste's face up to the tips of her delicately pointed ears as she sheepishly lowered her hands back into the water, her body barely visible behind the towers of bubbles around her. "You're clean now too, Mama?"_

 _"I am." Smiling I subtly reached into the tub and flicked a smaller wave of my own onto Celeste, startling her and causing a high-pitched delighted squeal to escape her lips._

 _"MAMA!" Celeste giggled as she scooted away, swatting more water at me as she kicked and flailed her wings, sloshing even more sprays of water up the walls, her raven locks a black curtain swirling through the bath. She flicked her gaze up at me, her round, freckled cheeks splitting in a wide grin. "Do it again!"_

 _"Do what again?" I inquired, grinning as I leaned against the tub's side, calling the water in the tub into my hand, summoning a flock of butterflies, their wings shimmering iridescent with soap. Celeste's eyes widened as she rose up and reached toward one of the fluttering water puppets, tentatively reaching out for it._

 _"Pretty," she said airlessly, her toothy grin wide, "Can you make fish?"_

 _"Let me see." The water shifted to my will, the butterflies morphing into dainty fish, swimming through the air, long, elegant fins flashing in the sunlight streaming through the window. She reached up and tried to snag one. It splashed against her hand, reforming and flitting away a second later._

 _"I can't catch it!" She swatted at them, her giggles filling the room. "Mama, help me catch them!"_

 _Joy filled me as I directed them to flit about my daughter's head, barely avoiding her grazing blows, her laughter growing louder and dancing through the room and my heart. As her squealing grew to a crescendo I stopped the fish midair and grinned mischievously at her before allowing the fish to dissolve, the resulting cascade of water drenching both of us._

 _Her exclamation of delight resounded through the entire house._

 _The dream had left me as hollow and cold as the Illyrian Steppes that I'd woken to as the rays of early morning light slipped through the windows of the small house. The memory turned dream had felt so real, as though I'd stepped through time and had relived that moment of peace and joy._

 _I wiped futilely at the tears that dripped down my cheeks._

 _These dreams, both lovely and terrible, had haunted me since her death, fading as the years began to slowly tick past. They had only come again as the Rite approached, as the danger my son would face grew more real._

 _Rhys had held me through the worst of them, when I'd bolted from the bed in panic. Reaching over, I felt the empty spot on the bed where I had pressed against him the night before, the sheets cold._

 _He must have already left hours before._

 _No doubt to help Cenric prepare for binding ceremony, for when his powers would be stripped from him by a spell-enchanted brew designed to leech every drop of magic from the consumer._

 _Rhys had no doubt gone alone because Cenric had refused to speak to me, had blown up so violently after I'd tried to protect him from the warrior who had charged him during the ceremony._

 _His words still stung. I flinched thinking back on them._

 _Never again, he'd roared at me, angrier than I'd ever seen him. Never do that again. I'd only stood there motionless, waiting for his fury to pass._

 _Rhys had snapped at him to check his temper, but the order had fallen on deaf ears. He'd felt I'd betrayed him, that I'd made an ass out of him in front of the warriors he was to face on Ramiel._

 _Deep down I knew he was right._

 _That realization had done nothing for me though as I'd begged him once again to reconsider, unable to stop the tears of frustration and fear as I'd tried to make him see reason._

 _He'd merely turned his back on me mid-sentence and stomped off through the snow, the thrum of his power silencing the life around us. He'd told me to go home, that if I couldn't control myself then perhaps I shouldn't be there at all._

 _Even Rhys had flinched at the accusation from where he had stood nearby, his wings flaring in agitation as our son's outburst. I knew he didn't blame him. The part of me that wasn't a mother didn't either._

 _All I could see was Celeste's torn wings, shredded to ribbons on the cold ground, her young blood seeping into the earth. Then and image of my son's broken body in the snow, the crows beginning to pick at him-_

 _I threw the covers back from the bed and quickly rose, ignoring the piercing cold as my bare feet touched down on the floor._

 _Cenric may have not wanted me there but I would not abandon him, no matter his fury._

* * *

I watched the ceremony with bated breath as Cassian handed the chalice filled with the spell-enchanted draught to Cenric and nodded at him.

My son drank deeply from the brew, the stench of the mixture wafting to my nose even from a distance, the lingering buzz of magic following after. It took every ounce of control I possessed not to winnow and slap that cup from his hands.

My nails dug painfully into my palms as I watched him gulp down the last of the concoction, grimacing in disgust as he pulled the goblet from his lips.

Cassian nodded gravely at his nephew before holding his hand out to collect the cup.

Each warrior was to drink before the assembly, for honor and to ensure that no one cheated.

Passing the chalice back to Cassian, Cenric nodded his confirmation, then turned and walked toward me, at the back of the tent. He strode proudly past the other warriors who had also consumed the power-leeching spell, all sitting pale as death on the icy ground as the brew worked its magic, draining their power from them. They shuddered in place, their wings bound, tight leathers crossed in a fashion that rendered them useless.

None had been able to make it further than the tent when the potion had hit. Each had slumped down in a different spot, bodies spasming as the magic that was as part of them as their blood vanished, pain wracking their forms.

It didn't stop the hatred in their eyes as they watched Cenric pass, some curling their lips back in snarls as he walked by.

He didn't even acknowledge their presence.

My throat constricted as I sensed the first flicker of a vacuum where the thrum of Cenric's magic had always been a steady presence.

I had dreaded what the brew would do to my son, whose power far surpassed anyone in these mountains.

I had forgotten how bad it was.

It was the jolt and shudder that passed through Cenric's shoulders first that had my heart bleating in panic as he let out a pained moan, nearly stumbling as he drew closer.

He did not fall, however, did not stop moving even as his skin grew as pale as milk and his lips thinned frighteningly.

Rhys's arms wrapped around me tightly from behind.

He'd warned me of the effects the potion would have, the effect it'd had on him when he'd consumed it so long ago. That it would wreak havoc on Cenric's body, bring it near the point of collapse in the first hours after consuming it. I remembered how it'd torn through Nesta, her scream as the spell the draught was enchanted with ripped her magic from her.

It would take a day before the effects waned enough that he could fight. Before any of them could.

The "time of contemplation" Cassian had called it, a tradition as old as the Illyrians and the Rite were. A day of preparation when the warriors allowed the magic in their bodies to be snuffed out and prepared themselves physically and mentally for the trials ahead.

Rhys had called it "the time of trying to stay conscious and not hurl up your guts." He'd said it had been one of the most agonizing days of his younger self but that the pain had subsided a few hours after. Azriel and Cassian had fared no better then.

It was known that the tonic itself was enough to kill a warrior before the Rite even began, that if the killing power ran too freely or was controlled too poorly that they would crumple beneath the spell's grasp. It would not only steal their power but their life.

Though Rhys had assured me Cenric's hold on his power was more than strong enough to resist, it gave me no comfort.

I felt the power within my son began to dwindle, felt it fade into a wisp of shadow on a chill wind in the night. He staggered, nearly hitting his knees by the time he reached me, but somehow remained upright, contempt still burning in his gaze for intervening earlier.

I did not reach out, knew after the stern exchange we'd had earlier that he did not want it.

I felt Mor's shoulders tighten beside me on my left, saw her lips turn down as she watched.

Nesta's face remained stone on my right, her sharp, unmoving gaze following my son's retreating form.

I could have clawed her eyes out for it.

I barely felt the comforting graze of my mate's power against my mind, soft and tentative. I ignored it as Cenric finally reached me and abruptly shoved past, his breath a rasp in his throat.

He wouldn't look at me.

I watched him stagger stiffly through the flap of the large tent, the snow now blinding and billowing as he stepped out into the frost and disappeared into the night. He was the first to exit the ceremonial tent standing.

Pride and blind terror raced through me as I heard the growls of the fallen warriors as they all watched my son walk out first.

I couldn't let him do this.

* * *

Cenric's head hurt like the seven circles hell as he struggled through the frozen wasteland that had formed in the hours of the Rite's ceremonies and monotonous vows. The pomp and circumstance of masculine bullshit that made even his male ego cringe.

He couldn't understand what his uncle and father saw in these people. Couldn't fathom how such wonderful males could ever have any respect for such a bigoted culture.

He thought of Nesta and her steely gaze, how'd she'd beaten the hell out of any of them that had stood in her way. How she'd told him to do the same and had implied that under no circumstances was he allowed to show any weakness. Even with the potion swirling through his veins.

They'd all warned it would be terrible, he just hadn't expected how terrible.

He'd nearly blacked out the second the first of it slipped into his system.

He tried to ignore the intense pain as his body absorbed the brew, breathing through his nose as he felt a part of himself ripped free.

Poison, it had tasted like burning poison.

He would have thought it lucky had it indeed been poison, in that it would have those bastards dropping like flies, but he wanted to savor their deaths. Wanted them to fall beneath his own blade as he watched the life drain from their eyes.

The ice tore at his face as he made his way towards the tents that had been erected for each participant to reside in during the week-long ceremony. He'd been the only warrior thus far that had made it out of the tent without having to sit.

She would have been 23.

The thought had tears welling in his eyes.

He wouldn't stop till he made it to his cot, even if the dizziness was blinding and he swore he heard the lapping of waves and the call of gulls overhead, a trickle of moonlight seeping through the clouds above a dark ocean. Could've sworn the vision of a boat with a mermaid at the bow danced in his mind and an overwhelming sense of relief over came him.

 _She's safe_ , were the words that danced through his mind, _she's safe_.

Horseshit.

Only her memory was safe in his heart, in that small stony grave in that lily-covered meadow.

There was no relief to be felt for him, not until this was finished.

His father had warned him of hallucinations as well. Had told him that he would see things that seemed so real, if he gave them proper attention they would drive him to madness.

He focused on the biting cold instead. On the burning of his muscles and the drip of cold sweat that ran down his brow.

Ramiel would be covered in a blizzard by the time they got to that mountainside, likely packed with at least a foot of dense snow, so thick they wouldn't be able to see in front of them.

He couldn't bring himself to give a damn.

The weather was odd for the season, colder and harsher than previous years. But bad weather meant excellent cover and he'd always been faster than the other warriors anyway, more cunning too.

A muscle contracted painfully in his back and he couldn't help the groan that tore from him as he stumbled forward, fighting the hold the brew had on him and the agony that raged as it snuffed out every ounce of magic that bled through his veins.

He was almost to his assigned tent.

He pushed through the pain, growling. The first step of the Rite, surviving your essence being ripped from you. He'd be damned if he lost to any of them.

His heart thundered in his chest as he finally pushed back the canvas tent flap as if it would explode from him. _Good_ , he thought, _let it burst_. She'd taken the last of it away when she'd died that night.

Cenric hadn't registered the tears slipping down his face or the sobs that escaped him as he crawled the last few feet to the well-worn cot and collapsed upon it, welcoming sweet oblivion.

* * *

 _Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit._

All of this was absolute bullshit. Valka let out a groan of agony as she writhed on the floor next to the few remaining Illyrians who hadn't risen yet. The last of the concoction had been dosed a few hours before and most of the warriors had already exited, whether by deaths hand or rising.

She, however, had not. She'd hit her knees the second that damned excuse for tea had slid down her throat, collapsing mere feet away from the front of the tent.

The first of the warriors had died within fifteen minutes, blood dripping from his nose as he slumped to the dirt floor with a solid thud. Only a few others had followed in the fool's footsteps. Of the two hundred in the Rite they'd lost eight.

She knew most of the males wished she would follow. She was the only female who had opted for the Rite this year and she knew that she'd had a target painted on her back from the moment she'd decided to serve Nesta.

The onlooking male warriors had all watched her with disdain and hollow eyes. _Weak_ , they seemed to sing, _weak female_. It was only when their faces had shifted into his that'd she bit back against the tonic, damning it and all of its ancestors.

She would not give them the delight of watching her die here.

She dug her heels into the ground as she hissed in torture.

Two other warriors still sat on the ground next to her, struggling to rise. One, she noted distantly, was the particularly ugly bastard who had decided to rough up the Lord's pretty son.

She'd found herself surprisingly smug at Cenric's little show of strength when he'd nearly marched from the tent without collapsing, even as she'd felt the void of power being sucked away.

That had quickly to turned to rage when she hadn't been so lucky.

She punched the dirt as a fresh wave of molten fire shot through her body. She'd be damned if she was the last one to leave this tent standing.

Tearing past the pain, she thrust her feet beneath her, her bound wings heavy and clumsy, throwing off her balance instead of assisting with it as she was used to.

She seethed through her teeth as she slumped back to the ground.

 _Again,_ she thought, _Do it again_.

Bullshit.

Only Nesta, her smug-faced mate and a handful of lords remained to watch the remaining warriors rise. They would remain until all warriors exited the tent or until the last lives of the ritual were claimed.

 _Come on_ , she could hear his voice command, soft and deep like the brooks that carved through the mountain passes, _You're stronger than that_.

A shiver raced down her spine. She'd nearly forgotten that tone.

She didn't dare look at those around her for fear of seeing him, for fear of being foolish enough to believe he was there.

She'd sworn to him that she would not fail him. Had sworn with every ounce of her being that those bastards would pay for what they'd done.

No matter the cost to herself.

She only had to get to the Lord's pretty son, only had to get him alone long enough-

Working a foot under her, she once again pried herself upright, using a nearby tent pole as balance as she swayed dangerously. She glanced towards Nesta and could have sworn a flicker of something danced through her eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

She tried to ignore the hollow feeling that came to her in response. Her moment of self-reflection came to screeching halt as she saw who stood next to her.

The ugly bastard had also finally managed to rise, his looming form wavering as he leveled a glare at her. She gave it back to him tenfold.

She did not know how long she stood there willing her body to move when the scent of blood finally assaulted her nose. She didn't need to look to know the last warrior had died. The final count was nine.

The ugly bastard grinned at her, a self-righteous grin full of arrogance. He reached out as though he thought to push her down.

Like hell she'd leave the tent after that bastard.

Drawing on a strength she didn't even know she possessed she lashed out with one leg in a swift arc that had the brute tumbling over like a mountain, crying out in agony as he fell.

This time she caught the flicker of amusement from her captain as she turned and faced her, panting so hard she feared her lungs might burst.

She didn't have time to acknowledge that either.

Struggling not to lose her momentum, she dragged her lead-heavy legs across the expanse of the tent, the distance somehow so much longer and so much more perilous with each step she took. She ignored the growled barrage of insults from the final warrior, willing her feet to move faster.

She wasn't going to lose this one.

After what felt like an eternity the sweet bite of icy wind whipped across her face and she realized she'd won. Barely, but she'd done it.

The grounded warrior behind her bellowed like a tied hound, the word "whore" ringing free from his lips.

Unable to resist, she summoned her strength and turned back the tent's entrance one last time, flashing him a wide smile before flipping him the bird and making her way into the cold night.

* * *

(Feyre)

I sat beside Cenric's cot where he slept soundly, the howling winds of the pass tearing through the camp like wraiths. The color had returned to his cheeks a couple of hours before, the thundering of his heart easing in his chest as his breaths became soft and even.

He had survived the first trial of the Rite.

Unlike several of the other warriors.

There had been fewer deaths this time, more had died the year Nesta had taken the Rite. I had not forgotten the warrior novices beginning to fall, like toppling mountains, their breath sputtering as the magic tore the life from them.

The dying gasp of the first warrior had chilled me, the sound of his life fleeing him before Cenric had even come to the front of the line to ingest the draught.

I'd shaken the entire time he'd waited in that line.

Turning, I heard the soft whisper of fabric from where Azriel and Rhys stood watch outside the tent, as was tradition to ensure no foul play occurred before the rite. To make certain no one snuck off and slipped a knife through a male's ribs or dabbed poison across an already weakened warrior's lips.

No such thing would happen to Cenric.

My hand instinctually tightened around the bow I kept in my lap, an arrow loosely nocked. No one would touch my son tonight.

I chewed at my lip, no one would touch my son ever.

 _Easy_ , I heard his midnight voice call down the bond, _he's already through one of the worst parts, he only needs to keep his wits about him and survive the week on the mountain._

 _A week that we cannot protect him._

 _Feyre_ , Rhys' voice was full of sorrow and worry, _you can't take this from him._

A heavy sigh escaped me as I toyed with the fletching on the arrow, my hands growing numb in the plummeting temperatures of the Steppes.

 _I know, but please, let me protect him tonight, let us protect him tonight._

Rhys' response was a soft, tentative caress down the walls of my mind. _We will, I promise._

I didn't bother wiping at the tears that slipped from my eyes.


	34. The Rite Part 1

_**Authors Note:I highly recommend listening to "Light of the Seven" and "The Night King" while reading for the next couple of chapters since I listened to them while writing. Enjoy!**_

 _ **watch?v=CcFjLGrwWBc**_

 _ **watch?v=pS-gbqbVd8c**_

The snow was blinding as Cenric was deposited in the forest near Ramiel's base, the cold tearing at his skin and seeping beneath his thick fur lined leathers. The warriors who had dropped him off said nothing as they shot into the air without a second glance, their wings booming and sending swirls of ice skittering from the tree branches above.

He couldn't say he was disappointed that they'd offered him no parting words.

The freezing onslaught of the bellowing gusts tore at him, sharpening his senses as he surveyed where they'd left him, his breath billowing before him in a great cloud.

They'd left him near the edge of a small ravine, surrounded by tall pines with heavily-laden branches drooping with snow. A small patch of grey ice snaked through the center of the ravine, no doubt where a stream flowed freely beneath. In the distance past the pines stood Ramiel, its sacred peak masked by billowing storm clouds.

Tentatively sniffing, Cenric found that the area was nearly scentless, only the cold, crisp smell of ice greeting him. The continuous downfall of snow must have buried any trace of what or who had passed through the area before.

Good.

It would make covering his tracks easier, with the continual down fall he would be able to slip through the woods nearly invisible, his tracks and scent both masked.

At least for the time being. The prospect of the hunt upon him had a smile curling on his lips.

He'd need to craft a weapon of some variety-a bow would be useful but would take time and materials. A simple sharpened wooden spear would be much quicker and more useful in close ranged combat.

At least for the time being.

He had a week to craft whatever tools he would need.

Surveying the trees around him he noted the sturdiest branches and felt his lips downturn, he'd need a makeshift knife to cleave the branches free for use. A sharpened stone would have to do, a few well-placed hits on a broad, large rock would do the trick.

It was truly unfortunate that they'd stripped him of all his weapons. A simple knife would have sped up the process significantly.

They'd taken everything from him except for the clothes on his back.

Two warriors had patted him down in camp, checking for any items before departing with him for the sacred grounds. They'd lifted him wordlessly into the air, alongside the other various warriors, and flown him into the depths of the Steppes.

His family had watched them take him, their faces hard as he was flown away into the dim morning light. His mother had lifted a hand in farewell and he'd done the same, the tear between them still wide, but mending.

She'd spent the entire night by his side, quiet and contemplative.

She'd only hugged him in the morning once he'd roused, her arms gripping tight about his shoulders before she'd let him go.

She'd told him she was sorry for what she had done and that she loved him and would be waiting for him when he returned.

It had softened the tension he'd held inside of him since their argument. She'd exited the tent with no further words, leaving her bow leaning against the canvas wall of his tent.

 _Cenric had awoken to the sound of weeping winds and the cold chill of snow, the pain in his head having vanished. In its place a pit of emptiness had cracked open, gaping and hollow._

 _His magic was well and truly gone._

 _Blinking blearily, he noticed the figure poised beside his cot, a bow laying across her lap as she toyed with the fletching of an arrow. His mother's soft ice blue eyes blinked once as he sat upright._

 _Annoyance flitted through him as he watched her, bracing for another round of protective nonsense. None came, only silence filled the tent._

 _They sat there for a time, their gazes locked with one another._

 _She was the first to break the silence._

 _"You were the only one to leave the tent immediately," her voice was soft, eyes bright. "You were right."_

 _Cenric lifted a brow at her in question; she blew out a long, shuddering breath._

 _"You are ready for this." His mother reached out a gloved hand and took his in hers, his palm dwarfing her delicate fingers. "I won't say anything else, just promise me," she squeezed his hand tightly in her own, "promise me you will come back to me."_

 _He nodded his head, gently squeezing her hand in response._

 _"I will, Mom, I swear it." He looked up at her gentle face, the one he loved so dearly, before softly pulling his hand free. "But you have to let me do this. No more intervening."_

 _"I know." She rose from the chair, straightening her clothes and leaning her bow and arrows against the side of his tent. "I won't."_

 _"Thank you."_

 _His mother nodded her head, absentmindedly chewing at her lip as she stepped back and allowed him to rise. Standing, he found that his feet were surprisingly stable beneath him, with no sign of the weakness he'd felt the night before._

 _He felt his strength had fully returned._

 _"Are you ready?" His mother toyed with the end of her braid, suddenly looking like the fragile human she'd once been. The fidgeting and uncertainty something that he had never associated with her strong and powerful presence._

 _He ignored the surge of guilt that rose up within him._

 _"Yes, I am." Running a hand through his hair, he pushed it back before kneeling to slip into the boots his mother had undoubtedly pulled from his feet during the night, before tightening them and straightening, his focus on the world coming to life outside of his tent._

 _He heard the rustling of wings and the deep murmur of his father and uncles' voices whispering to one another just outside of his tent. They'd stood guard all night._

 _A sense of gratitude filled him._

 _"Cenric," his mother began as he moved to exit the tent, the sounds of the other warriors rising in the brisk morning air, "remember who you're doing this for."_

 _He paused briefly to look back over a shoulder at her, taking in the face he knew like the back of his own hand. The long-tapered face and soft expression that were the twin to his sister's._

 _"I could never forget."_

A particularly frigid burst of wind had Cenric shivering and reflexively reaching into his power, willing it to create a shield against the cold. Nothing happened.

The spelled brew had done its work well.

Cenric looked at his gloved hand, blinking as he twisted it about.

The absence of his power left him feeling oddly empty, the great chasm that had once been filled with night-kissed power had been completely drained.

He flexed his fingers experimentally, but no insistent pressure of power pressed against his skin any longer. Quiet, it had turned completely silent.

He'd never felt such an emptiness, had never felt so . . . alone.

He vaguely wondered if others with no magic felt this same hollowness. If this was what those that possessed no ability to influence the world around them with a mere half a thought experienced: the lack of being able to sense things that others could not see.

Somehow the feeling was oddly comforting.

Squaring his shoulders, he quickly surveyed his surroundings once more, cataloging what he could use and what would serve as a detriment against him. To decide where he would begin.

A calmness slid over him that extinguished any residual bit of anxiety that haunted him, replacing it with a sense that the task before him was destined for him.

He would not fail in it.

He owed too much to her memory to even consider that outcome.

The thought of his family rushed through him - the image of his mother's tear-streaked face bold in his mind - he also had a home and life to go back to.

He just had to finish this.

Contemplating, a plan began to map itself out before him.

Cenric turned and set off into the blinding snow. He slipped into the shadows of the great pines, blending and moving quietly, careful to step in the shallowest patches beneath the branches where his footprints would be swiftly swallowed.

He would need to begin tracking game - a hare would be ideal for dinner and would give him the start of the supplies he would need. It would allow him to begin the process of stretching and drying its innards to create makeshift twine.

He'd also need to find cover, perhaps a cave or a high treetop would do while he fashioned his weapons and plotted his movements.

He would not make their deaths easy or quick.

He would savor their demise.

They would feel every blow that he inflicted upon them, would understand the price that would be paid for touching his blood, for threatening and harming what was his.

It didn't matter to him that it hadn't been their own hands, their disdain had been evidence enough of their guilt. Their clan names rang through his mind like a pealing bell, each a reminder of the discord and hell they'd put his family through.

But no longer.

They would finally feel the fear they'd tried to instill in his family, would understand that their precious sons were just as susceptible to a blade as a small ten-year-old child had been. That their whispers of treason did not go unheard.

Unknown to the rest of his family, Azriel had given him every name and description he could offer him before his departure. His stone gaze watching Cenric knowingly as he departed.

The list repeated itself in a loop, growing louder with each iteration.

His hunt would begin once the sun fell below the horizon.

The group of males had just lit their fire, their hunkered forms barely visible behind the lean-to they'd fastened against the cliff face, a solid barrier between them and the raging winds. They'd managed to hunt down a young doe, barely more than skin and bones, now freshly bled and skinned and roasting slowly over the flames.

Their crudely fashioned clubs sat menacingly against the wall of their shelter, a brutal reminder of what would happen to any who crossed their path in this wood.

They were out for blood and the glory that came with spilling it.

Their arrogant voices rang out into the inky night, booming laughter filling the empty space around them. Their bound wings casted great shadows across the cliffs wall, giving the impression of great beasts.

They weren't the monsters lurking in the night, however.

They never heard him coming, never saw him slip through the edges of their camp, nearly as silent and dark as the shadows themselves.

It was the first scream of terror and agony that had goosebumps flecking up on Valka's skin as she crouched in the lower branches of a fir, watching the young lord's son assault. He broke brutally past their guards, bones snapping beneath his iron grip. The spear he wielded in his right hand was brutal as it flashed red in the firelight as it tore into the soft tissue of their necks and guts.

Cenric took his time with them, inflicting deep, ragged wounds as they tried and failed to fend him off. He moved like a shadow, darting around their blows nimbly and countering with swift and agile grace.

Valka couldn't help but be reminded of a great forest cat - too fast and far too clever.

It was when the tip of his spear burst through the largest's throat and shredded it like paper that she suddenly understood who had trained him.

Nesta's style had always been near torturous, expertly crafted to inflict as much agony on the opponent as possible.

A cold sweat ran down Valka's spine despite the icy wind as she tucked herself further into the cover of the trees, careful to not make any noise as she watched the skirmish come to a rapid and bloody halt. It had ended nearly as quickly as it had begun.

The bellows of their anger and surprise had melted into whimpers of pain and agony as the stench of blood filled the night.

The snow finally began to slow to a crawl as it danced over the now empty camp, only the rapidly cooling corpses its occupants.

Valka had known the names of each of their clans, knew the egotism that was bred into their very beings, knew of the foolish whispers they had shared during the Rite.

Their thirst for glory had held no light in the shadow of a brother's pursuit of vengeance.

He looked every bit a prince of carnage as he stood there in the billowing snow, the darkness around him nearly singing in his presence.

It stole the breath from Valka's lungs.

She watched as he rose to his feet, the spear in his hand hanging loosely, the crudely sharpened tip glistening with rapidly freezing blood. His face was a mask of hard stone as he glanced around, cobalt eyes blazing in the light of the fire that danced before him, his breathing even.

He wasn't even winded.

A chill rippled through her as the realization took hold of her and she instinctively tightened her grip around her own crude weapons she's carved earlier. She watched with quiet intensity as he moved toward the first of the corpses and kicked it over so that the warrior lay on his stomach, bound wings reaching skyward.

She couldn't help the flinch as Cenric produced a sharpened stone and crudely began carving off their wings, the wet squelch of tearing tissue nauseating.

He tossed the membrane and sinew lazily into the snow besides their bodies.

The greatest insult an Illyrian could face, both in life and in death.

His face was hard as stone as he looked over the discarded appendages and quickly snapped them beneath his boots, the crunch echoing sickeningly across the still night.

Valka's stomach twisted as she turned away.

The bindings around her own wings suddenly felt tighter, more wrong as she watched him.

Finishing his deed, the male quickly slipped from the camp, not even bothering to ransack the group's gathered supplies. He slipped from Valka's sight nearly as quickly as he had appeared, a like a wraith in the night.

The snow had finally stopped, the winds nothing more than a faint whisper in the sky.

Sucking in a surprisingly tight breath, Valka slipped from the tree and began to tail him, as she had since her arrival on the sacred ground. She clutched her weapons close as she wended her way through the forest into the pitch blackness, following the Prince of Night.


	35. The Rite Part 2

The blood pounded in Cenric's ears as he roved soundlessly through the dark forest, the snow now still and silent around him. The stench of their blood still clung to him, curling in sharps wisps from his clothes, he had no doubt that his scent still saturated the camp from where he'd massacred them. He knew the point he was trying to convey would be obvious.

Three was a small number to begin with, but significant enough to catch the attention of the other participants, to invite them to hunt after him if they dared. He had selected the camp because of their blatant disregard for subtlety - they had camped in the open as a challenge to anyone willing to cross them.

It had made it easy to leave a clear message.

He flexed his freezing fingers around the makeshift spear he'd crafted, glimmering with their blood still frozen down the length of it. The echoes of their screams still reverberated through his mind, high and keening as he'd slaughtered them.

He shook his head to dislodge the sound. They were the first he had ever killed.

Surprisingly, the thought sat easy with him.

He continued to stride through the dark night until he came upon a steep rocky slope, littered with small, gnarled firs that clung desperately to the eroding hill, their roots poking out from the soil in snaking, dark tendrils.

Sheathing his spear in the makeshift sling he'd fashioned from rabbit skin he launched himself up the sheer rock face, carefully picking his way up through the leaning firs. He dug his soaked gloves into their rough bark as he navigated around the few snares he'd managed to lay hours prior, watching for patches of dark ice.

Veering left, he maneuvered around the cluster of boulders that sat precariously atop the steep slope. He knew a well-placed blow would have them tumbling down atop anyone who tried to follow him upwards.

If anyone could get past his snares and the treacherous patches of ice first.

Cenric sidled carefully along the narrow edge of the overhang before easily pulling himself up and over the ledge and dropping down into the nearly invisible natural crevice that he'd stumbled upon in his search for game earlier.

Slipping in through the narrow entrance, he ducked beneath rows of stalactites before emerging into a natural cave that tapered upwards, its walls smooth and rounded by centuries of flowing water. It stood close to twelve feet in height at its center and was the size of a small bedroom, the walls forming a natural barrier to storm raging outside.

An ideal find.

Letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, Cenric untied the makeshift sling from his back and laid his weapons down beside the small cluster of fir branches he'd collected for a sleeping mat, more to keep him warm than to provide any comfort.

A small pile of dry, burnt wood sat adjacent to his mat, a chunk of flint next to it.

He'd used it earlier to dry the rabbit pelts he'd managed to gather, three in total from a small warren that had been hunkered down in a narrow burrow, waiting out the storm.

Killing them had left a sour taste in his mouth.

Shivering, he sat down on his mat and tugged at the gloves on his stiff, frozen fingers. He'd need to let the gloves dry to alleviate any risk of frostbite. Pulling the rough leather free Cenric hissed, the iced articles tearing loose from where they had frozen to his skin.

Tossing them aside, he rubbed his hands together, willing some warmth to generate. Fortunately, the cave was well insulated and although still frigid, significantly warmer than the frozen wasteland outside. He wouldn't have to fear succumbing to the elements tonight.

Glancing at his extinguished fire he briefly considered lighting another but decided against it, with the snows having stopped the scent of a blaze would be easily found by any passing warriors or creatures. So, he'd forego it for now.

Instead he reached for the large branch, long and sturdy, he'd mindfully searched for in the fading rays of the afternoon and laid it across his knees. Pulling out free the sharp stone from his sling he began the work of carving down its length.

He would need to temper it tomorrow, steam it so that he could bend it to the shape that he wanted and then set it so that it would remain and become rigid, but for now he would carve.

With each stroke of his chipped stone knife the list he had repeated came to life, each name a piece of flesh that was carved from the branch's surface.

The list now had three less on it.

He knew when the seventh day came there would be none remaining.

* * *

The world had always seemed bright to Elaine, the swirl of color and rich smells a reminder of the richness of life. It had always been a beacon of strength for her through the difficult times she had faced, a reminder that there was beauty in all things no matter the hardships.

When she'd turned fae those colors and smells had become frighteningly bold, so severe that'd she'd been able to see hues of color she'd never dreamt of, to smell the complex layers of scents that she'd had no idea had existed.

That had been the only time the brightness of the world had seemed frightening to her.

That intensity had only been amplified by the dreams that had taken her in their grasp then, wringing the lucidity from her bit by bit. The flashes and symbols of things she could not explain that had kept her as a prisoner within her own mind.

It had been Azriel who had helped her recognize what the endless reel of images were. She's a seer, he had spoken in that quiet way of his all those years ago when the pieces had assembled together so seamlessly in his beautiful mind.

A seer.

It had been the beginning of her healing, the catalyst of acceptance for her new, immortal life.

Elaine would never stop being thankful to him for giving her that peace, for letting her reclaim her hold on the world and to see it anew, in all of its brighter and more splendid glory.

The gift the Cauldron had given her had not faded in the time that she had been made fae either. It had only become more robust, more detailed as she slowly learned to understand and interpret the seemingly jumbled imagery. It had saved her and her family one more than one occasion and had continued to be a blessing to her in all the time she had possessed it.

She'd foreseen the rise of her sister Nesta amongst the Illyrians, the mist that rose from the shadows of the Cauldron's swirling waters, a mass of silvery power that had swept through the Illyrian Steppes in a great gust and had wrapped itself around the bleeding stone that stood proud in the mountain pass, protecting and ever watchful.

Had watched as Lucien won freedom for the human lands, the cunning fox that had charged into battle with the bird of flame and the gentle knight whose face had been painted as a monster, felling the withered and bitter crones in their towers of stone.

She'd even foreseen the birth of both of her other sister's children, the tiny blue-eyed wolf pup encased in light who was birthed from the shadows and the beautiful violet lily that became a hanging star in the dark sky.

She'd seen it all.

Even the dreadful rise of the monster lurking in the forests of the mountain, crawling and inching through the shadows as it crept towards Velaris, leeching the life from all that it touched.

Watched as it slipped past the walls of a beautiful city and dove down into the depths of an ancient tomb, searching. She'd watched as that shadow had risen and blotted out all the stars in the sky except one, the brightest that came barreling down towards the earth, its brilliant light dimming.

She could still hear the taunting laughter as that gentle star burned out and fell into the cold embrace of death.

She hadn't had the heart to tell her sister what she had seen after they'd winnowed from the Riverside Estate thirteen years ago - that they were too late. She had only mustered the courage to take little Cenric in her arms and plead to any deity willing to listen to protect her niece's soul. Pled for the child in her arms to be spared for the pain that would inevitably come, and for that monster that stolen the star to be ground into a fine dust that could no longer touch those she loved.

She'd even pled for the kind shadow who had led her back to the light, the one whose agony was hidden so well that many did not know its true depths. Whose agony had been lightened by that little star who had looked at his darkness without an ounce of fear and instead offered a kind smile and unconditional love.

She had loved that about her.

Azriel had never been the same since her death, the warmth within him that she had held onto so dearly frosting over as made it his sole purpose to hunt the traitors down, restlessly. She'd never blamed him for it, had instead loved him more fiercely in a time when she wasn't sure he felt any love at all.

Only fragments of that blessed warmth returned during the nights when he wearily crawled into bed next to her, burying his face in her hair as he let her take some of the hurt from him. Let her soothe what few pieces he was willing to share.

She'd done so without hesitation. Even as her own heart still bled in the absence of that star.

She'd never forgotten the sound of her own blood-curdling scream, the rush of shocking cold that had washed over her as the star in her mind had hit the ocean's dark surface.

She hadn't been able to share that horror with Feyre or Rhys, had known it would break them further than they already were. So she'd kept her silence, that vision a memory she tucked away and let no one see.

She'd sworn she would never keep another vision from her sister after.

Which was why she was making her way down the stairs of the Riverside Estate towards the large sitting room where she spotted her lovely sister anxiously cleaning, mindlessly tapping her feet as she went. Her braid was a wild mess as she moved back and forth.

She hadn't stopped since she'd returned from the Steppes three days prior, right after they'd taken Cenric into the depths of the mountains to begin the Rite. She'd dug out old, worn clothes and had taken to scrubbing every surface of the already immaculate house.

Her anxiety was near palpable as she worked endlessly.

She'd made Cenric a promise that she would not intervene in the Rite and had gone back to Velaris with Mor as a show of faith, leaving the others to await the return of her son.

Elaine had offered to help her but had been politely declined, so instead she'd kept her company talking about anything and everything as Feyre cleaned and cleaned and cleaned.

It was her way of coping with the worry of Cenric's trial.

The Rite had even left Elaine feeling restless, wandering about the house at night, willing some image or symbol to come to her mind. For any sign of how the Rite would end, of what the trial would hold in store for the boy. How her sweet nephew would fare.

She had received no vision, not one in the weeks leading up to the Rite.

None until that morning when she'd been hit with a gust of the coldest wind in the warm morning sun and seen the future unfold like ink-stained fabric before her. She quickly dressed and descended the stairs from her room, intent on finding her sister as quickly as she could.

He legs quivered as she stepped softly onto the plush carpet of the sitting room.

"Feyre," Elaine began softly, watching as her sister jumped at the interruption, her expression slightly manic as she turned to face her. Elaine couldn't help but note the shadows under her eyes - she hadn't been eating. "Can we talk?"

"Of course." Her sister sat down a small ceramic fox figurine, a gift from one of her students, which she'd already cleaned numerous times in the past days. "What is it?"

Elaine swallowed hard, her hands trembling.

"I had a vision," Feyre's eyes widened as she went ramrod straight and Elaine caught the sound of her heart spluttering in her chest. "It's Cenric."

* * *

Cenric sat high in a tree as he nocked an arrow and adjusted his aim for the eight ambling warriors below him. They'd been on his trail for the better part of the morning, thinking themselves clever to have found his tracks. Loudly boasting about which of them would get to skin the lady bitch's pup.

The fools hadn't realized he'd laid it there for them intentionally.

He'd finally assembled his bow the day prior, a short, uneven thing that was hideous to the eye and strung with rabbit gut. Its beauty, or lack thereof, spoke nothing of its quality though - it shot far and straight, carrying a weight that easily punctured the soft bits on an exposed warrior.

As he'd seen firsthand as he'd felled numerous warriors with it, his list ever-dwindling.

He'd fashioned the arrows from the same wood as the bow, and the fletching from the feathers of a dead hawk that he'd happened across in the upper part of the valley.

Today he'd finally moved camp and begun his trek towards Ramiel, the mountain he would have to surmount on the seventh day. He'd been happy to play a game of cat and mouse on the way.

Pulling in a steadying breath, Cenric aimed his arrow at the largest of the group, a brute with a buzz cut that made his already monstrous head seem larger. Pulling the bow taut he waited for the perfect moment before releasing the arrow, its flight silent as it struck and tore through the male's throat.

Cenric had already nocked another arrow before the largest had hit the ground and immediately sent it flying towards his companion on his right, where it buried itself in his eye down to the fletching.

The other six scrambled out of the way as their companions fell, their shouts of surprise ringing through the valley.

They'd taken cover behind the trees where Cenric could not aim at them. No matter.

Hopping down from his perch, he slid his spear free, twirling it experimentally as he dashed to the right, making as much noise as possible.

The warriors heard his retreat and quickly followed. He zigzagged through the trees, listening to their pounding footsteps as they chased him down the slope, the sound of their own makeshift arrows flying overhead.

He artfully dodged them.

The Ironwood clan had specialized in making and wielding the legendary Illyrian bows, so it came as no surprise that they'd crafted finer weapons beyond the crude clubs and poorly knapped daggers he'd seen in abundance.

One arrow whistled past his ear, eliciting a curse as he willed strength to his legs and began to move more erratically, back and forth.

A moving target was a difficult target.

Deviating far to the left he shot off into the wood and began to loop around, easily losing them as they shouted at one another, looking for him.

They'd stopped in a clearing, the snow crunching beneath their feet as they circled back to back looking for him. He stepped into the shadow of one of the great pines, waiting, counting.

He saw their movements, the way they held their weapons offensively, with no intentions of using a defensive maneuver. An easy guard to break through.

Ducking behind the pine he hid and waited for their gaze to drift. He'd need to herd them deeper into the woods to separate them. Bracing himself, he snapped a twig loudly beneath his foot before shooting off into the frozen forest.

* * *

This bastard has the stamina of a mountain goat, Valka thought sourly as she curved along the outside of the glen Cenric had disappeared into in a flash of shadow, his footsteps sending him deep into the ancient forest.

She'd be surprised if he'd even slept in the last few days.

She certainly hadn't while trying to keep up with him and track his movements. He'd appeared to materialize in and out of existence in a way that made Valka wonder if some small dreg of his power remained.

He moved like the shadowsinger.

He'd been relentless, picking off warrior after warrior so thoroughly she was beginning to wonder if he'd let anyone walk off the mountain alive. Even the warriors who had remained loyal to his court.

They hadn't encountered any of them, yet.

Valka assumed that they had enough sense to stay the hell out of the pup's path as he carved a trail of bloodied corpses and snapped sinew. She still shuddered at the image, tucking her own pair of wings closer, the membrane growing raw and sore where the bindings dug in ever more tightly each day.

She'd have to soak them for a week to relieve the ache once she got back to camp. That was if she got back to camp.

At the rate she was going trying to keep up with the dapper prince she wasn't sure she'd even have the energy to haul her ass up that ridiculous mountain at the end of this escapade.

She was half tempted to give up on this mission of hers and just find herself a nice, dry, warm cave to hunker down in until the Rite ended. As much as the idea appealed to her, she knew she couldn't. This would be her only chance to get him alone.

Glancing around, she looked for the tracks she'd being following and soundly cursed herself as she realized she'd veered away from them.

Annoyance filtered through her and she growled. She'd lost sight of his trail entirely, his footsteps so light in the snow that they barely left indentions. She must have missed them further back when he had started to swerve off in the opposite direction, racing into the dense, overgrown forest.

He was leading them all on a wild goose chase.

She'd need to find his path again.

Pausing, she vaulted up the base of the ancient evergreen nearest her, quickly scaling to the top. The branches tore at her as she settled on a large limb, ignoring the prickles of conifer needles digging into her leathers as she gripped the tree tightly with her thighs.

The icy air stung her eyes as she surveyed the area around the tree, a dense, tightly packed forest that was littered with small, splintered boulders: impossible to move through without leaving a trail. There should have been at least some broken branches or disturbed leaf litter.

She saw none.

He really was nothing more than a wraith.

Shifting her view, she spotted the Ironwood clan warriors Cenric had ambushed earlier slowly picking their way through the glen, their hulking forms casting long shadows in the fading evening light. They hadn't given up the chase. Their footsteps were slow and calculated as they leisurely picked after the male, hunting him with a laziness that made Valka uneasy.

They would be tricky ones to kill, with their archery skills and endurance that was renowned throughout the entirety of Illyria.

Their hunting and tracking were second to none.

She knew because she and her mother had originated from that clan. The clan that had hosted the birth of the seven great warriors who had stood before Rhysand and rebelled, where her brother Silbah had been reared, tailored to the role of prince.

It surprised her that the shadowsinger hadn't already eliminated what remained of them.

Then again, some had sworn their allegiance against her brother and had fought him when he'd tried to take Illyria. It was the only reason she and her mother still breathed, the only reason they'd been spared when Rhysand had rained hell down upon them.

So much for that allegiance now, she thought briskly as she watched them stalk across the snow, barely more than black dots on a white canvas. They would have been wise to have killed them all.

She knew Cenric had gotten lucky with the well-placed arrows he had hit the group's leader and scout with, two shots that would not be made that easily again. He had only kicked the beasts away, tempting them with a chase they were happy to give.

He didn't realize he wasn't the only one who enjoyed the hunt.

The boy was strong and clever, but too arrogant to realize that some of the warriors had spent their life in territories like this, bred and honed in the cold, tempered like the sharpest steel. Not cloistered in a warm Estate with down beds and silks.

Still, he'd held his own.

Valka watched as the tallest of the group, Durek if she recalled correctly, knelt about five hundred yards away from her, tentatively picking at the snow.

The spot where she'd lost his trail.

They knew Cenric was leading them in circles, trying to disorient them and wear them down. The male smiled and lazily rose, holding a hand up to his companions and motioning them to follow east of the trail, back towards where a shallow brook curled through the wood.

Valka immediately realized they were planning to use the water to cover their own trail, even at risk of hypothermia.

The pup didn't realize they were also baiting him.

* * *

(Feyre)

I flew high above the Illyrian Steppes, my heart a thunderous beat inside me as I soared on the vicious winds, bits of ice slicing at my wings as I raced over the peaks. Fear saturated my entire being as I frantically looked around, willing some sign of him to appear.

I had to find Cenric immediately, all honor be damned.

I would not lose my son, I would not lose my other child.

Elaine's prophecy clanged violently through me, dread saturating my soul.

"A dark grey wolf hunts through the forest alone, killing dogs and darting into the shadows. He runs down a great valley, encircling a pack and nipping at their heels as he drives them back against an ancient tree, but they soon realize he is alone and overwhelm him. He faces grave danger. The wolf is cornered and injured, bleeding heavily. A great hawk flies overhead, watching. The wolf will perish without the hawk."

It felt as though ice had been poured in my veins as I'd heard the words slip past my sister's mouth, her lips raw from where she'd been chewing at them in worry. She said without intervention that he would die, tears dribbling down her cheeks.

I hadn't had time to respond, had only winnowed from the estate to the mountain passes above Ramiel and began the frantic search for my son.

Rhys had felt my panic down the bond the second I'd winnowed, alert with anxiety in his voice as he asked me what was going on. I hadn't bothered to respond, I'd shut him out.

I'd shut everything out, everything except for the thought of my son cornered and wounded. The images of his brutalized body threatened to tear me asunder, I shoved them down violently, nearly choking on the fright that filled me.

I didn't have the time to explain or argue, I had to move quickly.

I couldn't sense him: without his magic, he was as good as invisible to me. I'd have to track him in the way that only I could in the snow, the way I had tracked game so many years ago to keep my sisters and father alive.

This time I wouldn't be hunting for my survival out of a sense of duty, instead it would be out of love for the piece of my heart that I could not bear to lose. Gliding over a valley I saw a pack of warriors moving through the snow, a scrawny deer slung between them.

But no Cenric.

My heart jumped further into my throat.

One of the warriors glanced up, watching me circle to and fro, and immediately turned his attention back to his kill. He had only seen a white-tailed hawk flitting above, looking for its next meal. Not a desperate mother searching for her child.

They would not be made aware of my presence, I'd leave my son that much honor.

Circling over the valley, I shot into the sky. I wouldn't stop until I found him.


	36. The Rite Part 3

Cenric rolled quickly as the warrior brought down his makeshift club, slamming it jarringly into the earth next to his head. _Too soon_ , he thought tauntingly as he expertly swept to the side, _he's left himself completely open_.

Tightening his form, he braced a hand against the frozen ground and shot his foot out and upwards, nailing the furious warrior directly in the jaw, sending a crack echoing throughout the wood. The brute stumbled backwards, his wings sending him off balance as he grunted in agony and cradled his shattered face in one hand, the other still clinging limply to his mace.

A strand of advice from Cassian snaked through Cenric's mind: _Find a weak point, abuse it._

Heeding those words, he didn't allow the warrior to recover as he rose and pursued, hitting the male with blow after blow, ensuring he kept peppering that freshly snapped bone with an array of well-placed strikes. Swinging sharply, his right fist made square contact with the warrior's jaw, and it crumbled further like plaster beneath his hand.

Blood spewed.

Grinding his teeth, Cenric ducked and danced out of the way, the smell of fear finally beginning to meld with the stench of fury in the oversized brute's scent. They'd thought themselves clever for sneaking down the frozen creek that twined through the woods, easily hiding their scent and tracks as they crept up behind him in a valiant attempt to ambush him.

He'd been waiting for them when they'd burst through the heavy undergrowth, having tracked the sound of their wading as they followed after him, their bulky forms splashing loudly as they pursued, quiet curses of how damned cold the water was giving their positions away with ease. He'd nearly chuckled at it as he'd raced along the edge of the river, leaving deep prints beneath him.

He'd stopped after several grueling miles of winding into the deep, overgrown forest in the opposite direction of Ramiel, and had settled in a quiet grove amongst a cluster of saplings to await their approach, listening to the croaks of the large vultures settling in the trees high above, no doubt waiting for their next meal.

The first warrior had fallen the moment he'd come upon Cenric, thinking him vulnerable and unaware as he couched in the shade of one of the ancient pines, chewing on a shred of dried rabbit. The warrior had found that to be untrue when a spear had punctured through his chest, ripping the beating heart beneath his leathers to ribbons.

The second had been harder to kill, quick on his feet and armed with surprisingly well-crafted daggers but he too had collapsed as soon as Cenric broke through his guard, a well-placed kick to the warrior's throat swiftly crushing his trachea.

The third had struck from the back after the second had collapsed, swinging at Cenric with wide, arching blows that had enough force to crack ribs.

He'd avoided each swing more gracefully than the last.

Cenric noted that only three of the six had attacked him, sending his mind calculating as he deliberated where the rest of the group was. His suspicions told him they followed further behind in the creek, biding their time to see how their brethren fared before launching their own attack.

Based on the way the third warrior reeled back in agony, blindly swinging his weapon as he stumbled around his fallen brothers, Cenric was inclined to think not so well.

He would be lucky if he ever spoke again with his shattered jaw, fortunate even to be able to eat on his own.

 _Though you don't need to eat if you're dead_ , Cenric considered smugly.

The same realization also seemed to settle on the warrior as he stopped his wild batting and narrowed his small, dark hazel eyes at Cenric's crouched form, his nostrils flaring. His rage was near palpable as the warrior mustered a look that said he knew he wouldn't leave this field alive, but neither would Cenric.

He welcomed him to try.

A particularly loud squawk sounded from one of the vultures above, catching the attention of both combatants. The birds were no doubt eager for the meal they would receive once match ended. Their presence had unsettled Cenric from the start - scavengers picking from the carrion.

An image of a water-logged child's corpse being devoured by fish flickered to life in his mind, silky black locks floating aimlessly in a depthless and cold ocean, empty eye sockets staring endlessly where violet orbs had once burned fiercely-

His senses bled red.

Twisting his rapidly dulling spear, he noted the once thin coating of blood was now thick and gruesome, several shades darker than it had been that morning. He imagined it would only grow worse once he finished the Ironwood clan warriors tailing him, with any luck all before sundown.

The thought had him ceasing his twirling and brandishing his spear, lowering himself into a defensive crouch. He hadn't forgotten it had been their clan that had taken his sister from him and snarled, eager to finally return the favor.

One snapped jaw at a time.

He evaluated the limping warrior in front of him, still set off balance by the wings bound close to his body, his attention distant as he glanced up towards the tree tops, his lips curled at the corners.

He'd savor cutting the wings from these males the most.

Dribbling blood and spittle from his slack mouth, the fluids soaking the front his leathers, the male turned his attention back to Cenric and charged him, his footsteps thudding loudly against the snow-covered ground as he raced forward.

Cenric, seeing the impending blow, merely sidestepped the wild swing and countered with a sweeping spear-strike, sending the warrior reeling forward into the snow. All the Ironwood warriors had attacked him brashly, noisily, and without any attempts at subtlety, hacking away at him as they drove him deeper into the gnarled woods.

He had pinned their clan for being more cunning than that.

Letting out a slow breath he watched as the male tried to rise, a painful wheeze escaping him, before grunting and collapsing back into the snow, his blood bright as rubies against the ice.

He was ready to finish this.

Standing above the warrior, Cenric harshly kicked him over onto his back, his wings twisting awkwardly beneath him in their bindings as they crunched ominously, the sinew bending in places it shouldn't have.

The warriors jaw sat at a sickeningly wrong angle as he glared up at Cenric with a century's worth of rage and snarled.

"I remember your Prince being more cunning than that when he faced my father," Cenric mused, lowering his spear so it sat over the warrior's chest, the suppressed memory of his father's fight floating lazily to the surface. "Any last words, dog?"

The warrior coughed a bit on his blood before throwing his head back and laughing, his jaw tilting nauseatingly as the raw sound escaped him, broken by gurgling wheezes. Cenric pressed his spear harder into the warrior's leathers, his patience growing thin.

"Well?" he snarled, preparing to drive the spear home.

"You should have looked up," the warrior said sloppily, a bloodied, crooked grin growing wide on his face as pain, blindingly sharp like nothing he'd ever felt before, blossomed in Cenric's shoulder as an arrow buried itself into his flesh.

* * *

Valka had been closing in on the tracks when she'd noticed the extra set of prints splitting off toward the west, opposite of where the Ironwood clan had begun following the stream, tailing Cenric.

Warning bells had pealed in her mind as she noted them, light indentions that were barely detectable. Three or four lightly armored males who were taking great care to cover their footsteps, with tracks going both towards and away from the stream.

They were both old and fresh.

Kneeling she had prodded at the marks, noting the fine leather treads with patterning that was distinctive of the leather work from the Greenhill clan, one of the few truly loyal clans that served the Lord and his court.

Why were they this far out?

She would have expected them to be making their way towards Ramiel, not out in the opposite direction where the dense forest gave way to steep ravines and rocky terrain, where monsters and ghouls of every shape and size wandered freely. Not unless they too had forsaken all sense of loyalty and were out hunting the young heir as well.

The idea had seemed fishy at best to Valka.

Gnawing on her lip, she mulled through her thoughts, contemplating which trail to follow. Her mission had been only to get to the heir, but something tugged at her, urging her to follow the footprints that snaked up through the high rocky passes that had surrounded the valley.

Cenric would survive long enough for her to pin him, she'd firmly assured herself before heading up the rocky outcrops

Now she was cursing her own foolishness as she slid on a patch of loose grus, forcing her to pause and regain her footing as she made her way up the steep rock surface, entirely coated in ice. She'd consider it a miracle if she didn't slip and snap her neck on the sharp rocks below.

Hauling herself further up the cliff face, she settled on a small overhang and dragged her hands through her hair. This had to have been the most foolish error she'd ever made, she thought sourly, having lost sight of the warriors' tracks at the base of the bluff's wall.

Whatever reason they'd decided to climb up this sheer, slippery hell couldn't have indicated anything other than that the male ego was stupid. The warriors had likely challenged one another to see how high they could haul themselves upward the icy precipice for some nonsensical bragging right.

She'd been a fool to waste her time in pursuing what was proving to be a dead-end trail.

She was considering climbing back down when out of the corner of her eye she spotted the Greenhill prints descending into a small outcrop, not visible from any angle except above it. Quirking her head, Valka quickly rose to her feet and risked the small leap across the rocks before sliding down into the natural alcove.

It was the scent of wood and oil that hit her first, something entirely out of place in a location where no one was permitted outside of the Rite. Sliding in through the narrow space, she let out a whistle of surprise. In the small red stone nook sat an array of carved wooden weapons and quivers full of arrows, neatly stashed.

Someone's supply cache.

Worry bloomed in her as understanding filtered into her mind - the weapons were too finely crafted to have been assembled in the few days since the Rite had started and the sweet stench of the oil told her that it wasn't some crude, boiled down boar fat.

Somebody had left these here for the Rite, specifically to give someone the upper hand.

Someone who most definitely wasn't one of the warriors currently on the mountain, who had all been closely watched from the time they'd flown in at the beginning of the ceremony and had not been permitted out of the sight of the others until they had been dropped off near Ramiel's base.

They wouldn't have had the chance or opportunity.

Noticing the sheen from the shafts, Valka clicked her tongue: the wood had been freshly oiled, telling her the cache could not have been more than a week old. She growled in as she stepped forward, looking over the weapons. If someone had managed to find this obscure spot to hide the supplies they must have been scouting the area ahead of time too.

Sniffing tentatively, she tried to discern any scents, anything besides the overwhelming sweet waft of oil that drowned everything else out-

There, she thought, sniffing once again to confirm what she had detected, the sharp tinge of smelted iron and pine, the smell that often accompanied those who worked the forges in the Ironwood camp. It was undeniable.

So why were they wearing Greenhill boots?

Thoughts turned over and over in Valka's mind as she reached forward and snatched up one of the arrows, intending to look at the crafting of the fletching, when pain immediately shot through her hand, searing and wrong. She flung the arrow away from her, hissing as it hit the ground and rolled, its iron tip glistening with a colorless liquid.

A wave of sickness washed over her and she braced a hand against the wall, repulsion snaking through her as clarity returned, the overwhelming stench of wrongness burning her nostrils.

They were ash arrows.

* * *

Cenric couldn't help the strangled scream that escaped him as he clawed fruitlessly at his left shoulder, trying and failing to dislodge the wood that had been buried deep into his muscle and tendons. A sense of dizziness overwhelmed him as his senses dulled, the act of breathing suddenly becoming very difficult.

Something was wrong.

Another arrow rained down from the tree above him, embedding itself deeply into the chest of the warrior who he had felled with a sickening crunch. Blearily, he watched as the warrior's chest heaved then rose no longer.

Mortification drenched Cenric's senses as he pinpointed where the arrow had originated.

A chuckle sounded overhead as the three missing Ironwood warriors dropped from above him, their hair dusted with snow as they straightened themselves, bound wings held proudly behind them.

Cenric finally understood how they had snuck up on him as they brushed the snow from their shoulders. They shared an amused glance before turning toward him and mockingly mimicking the call of a vulture, the imitation near perfect.

The great hunters of the Ironwood clan, renowned for their ability to lure any beast and their flawless mimicry of such creatures. Azriel had warned Cenric they'd perfected it to nearly an art. He realized they'd used the tightly packed trees to follow him from above, climbing from tree to tree as he'd been distracted following the winding creek, playing vultures ever searching for their next meal.

He cursed his own foolishness as he scrambled away, his spear still clutched tightly in his hand. He needed to get up, needed to get out and find another place to orient himself, somewhere to remove the arrow and bandage the wound-

The tallest must have noticed his thought process as he clicked his tongue, amber eyes bright, and strode toward Cenric, his hands resting casually on his bow and loosely nocked arrow.

"A valiant effort, boy," the warrior began, chortling as his clean-shaven head glistened, "but I fear this is where this ends."

Cenric growled as he rose, trying to right himself. Another wave of blinding, searing pain shot through his shoulder, and his stomach rolled dangerously. He bit down on the nausea, focusing only on the breaths that he drew, his eyes scanning the three warriors that now flanked him, wicked smirks painted across their faces.

The arrow they had lodged in his shoulder wasn't ordinary. Glancing at the one casually nocked in the male's bow Cenric realized immediately that it hadn't been crafted in these woods either, the iron tip and smoothly sanded shaft indicative of the care that had gone into its creation.

The color of the wood and its grain sounded warning bells in his mind.

Ash.

His eyes widened as he felt the wood twist painfully in his shoulder as he sucked in a breath.

There were no groves of that wood anywhere in these Steppes, as the few that survived at these altitudes had been cut and burned millennia ago. Someone else had brought those arrows here.

From the metallic tang on his tongue and the waves of nausea beginning to rise within him, Cenric was willing to bet they'd also been coated in some type of poison, something designed to slow him. The glistening on the arrow's tip confirmed that suspicion.

He shouldn't have been surprised.

Rage consumed him as he spat the word, "Cowards."

The one slowly encroaching gave him a viper-like smile at his accusation, amusement dancing through his bright eyes.

"Perhaps," he began, beginning to slowly herd Cenric backwards as the other warriors fanned out around him, their hands on equally vicious-looking arrows, "or perhaps not. Perhaps this is the only honorable way to reclaim the honor your family has taken from the Illyrians."

Honor, pride, ego. The only thing this pathetic people had to hide behind.

Cenric couldn't stop the bitter laugh that slipped from him as he strode backwards, his eyes surreptitiously judging his surroundings, the distance. He distantly wondered how quickly he'd have to move to evade them, how to prevent any further damage to the tissue in his shoulder . . . "Or perhaps this is the only definition of honor you have, oversized bullies whose egos only serve as overcompensation for the bits you're lacking."

He needed to work them into a fury, enough of a blind rage that their shots would become erratic, poorly placed.

They remained unperturbed as they inched forward.

The tallest watched Cenric's every movement with those unnerving eyes, cataloging the way his balanced, how he favored the shoulder that still burned like fire. Cenric felt an icy sweat break out on his forehead as he maneuvered around a large boulder, willing the trembling in his hands to cease.

"Make as many insults as you like," the warrior hummed, his bowstring growing taut as he raised it, "you will never make another again."

The others raised their bows as well, nothing but amusement in their rough-hewn features.

Seeing it as his only opening, Cenric rushed to the left, narrowly avoiding the graze of the arrow the male fired as he threw himself down into the ravine behind him, sliding through thick mud and hissing as his skin tore on rough brambles as he rushed towards the bottom.

Pain rippled through his chest and shoulder as he narrowly avoided the arrows they halfheartedly fired after him.

He barely heard their pursuit as he threw himself into a sprint down the winding channel, blackness spotting his vision as he fled deep into the shadows. They followed lazily behind, their footsteps unhurried.

* * *

 _Shit, shit, shit._

Valka urged her legs up the steep trail as she raced through the forest, her eyes ever watchful as she flew across the rocky terrain, hoping against all hope that she would get there in time.

She would have to race if she wanted to get to the dapper prince before the damned Ironwood brutes filled him with ash arrows. The Rite had turned from a test of strength and valor to an extermination, exclusively directed at the last heir of the Night Court.

The fool should have never entered the Rite with the dissent so widespread, and his taunting had only added fuel to their flames.

She'd slap him herself for his foolishness if she found him alive.

The icy air burned her lungs as she slid down the icy terrain, following the faint trail that snaked past pines and up into the rocky crevices of the Steppes, the tread of the Greenhill boots deeper and more prominent now.

She'd found the bodies of the boots' original owners at the bottom of a steep ravine near the rocky outcropping where the cache had been placed, their broken necks and blank eyes facing the winter skies, their feet bare and frozen blue and black.

The Ironwoods had wanted to throw others off their trail and had slaughtered warriors from a loyal clan to do it, to seed more distrust between the remaining faithful clans.

A clever strategy had they not been so sloppy with its execution.

They were jeopardizing everything. Months of careful planning and maneuvering all about to be wasted if the idiots cornered Cenric and slaughtered him.

She forced her feet to move faster, willing the miles ahead of her to vanish.

She had already wasted too much time sifting through the array of weapons that had been stashed, cataloging just how many had been left there.

Enough for a dozen warriors.

Whoever had placed them had known how dangerous Cenric was and were banking on it taking numerous warriors to kill him.

Only one name came to Valka's mind as to who would have had that sort of clear foresight, who would have had the resources and knowledge to execute something so blatantly rooted in treason.

A trap within a trap.

She swallowed around the lump forming in her throat.

* * *

Cenric could barely stay upright as he raced through the thick wood, his feet like lead beneath him as the Ironwood warriors herded him. Two warriors flanked him on either side and one followed up the rear, still shooting the occasional arrow at him as they drove him deep into the forest.

His shoulder had long since become so painful that numbness had begun to slip into the immobile joint, interrupted only by the burning and clawing pain when the tissue tore further on the poison tip deeply embedded, soaking his senses in unending, grueling torture.

He refused to recognize the pain, the fuzziness that danced around the edges of his vision as he continued to rush through the thick undergrowth, thorns tearing at his leathers. To acknowledge it would only result in his collapse and his inevitable demise.

He wouldn't fall until the three warriors pursuing him where nothing but scraps for the crows.

Cenric threw himself to the left, narrowly avoiding another arrow as it whizzed past his ear and rooted itself into the muddy ground on his right, barely hearing its flight. The sudden dodge sent him stumbling but he forced balance to his feet and continued sprinting, refusing to allow them to gain even another inch on him.

He had to find a way out around them, a way to loop back behind them and separate the group so he could face them individually.

It was the only he would survive their assault.

He willed his fuzzy mind to think, to plot, but nothing came to him but the heavy lulling silence that had blotted out his mind.

He could only keep running and pray that an opening would show itself.

* * *

I had been hours into my frantic search when the familiar scent of cedar and citrus wafted to my senses, curling from a high pine I had just passed in my flight.

Wheeling back, I fluttered to the tallest branch and searched, my son's scent coating the tree from where he'd recently been perched, the flattened branches telling me he'd been positioned there for some time, watching.

Following the line of sight Cenric would have used I spied the blood-soaked ground where two warriors lay motionless, the stench of rot beginning to seep from them. Both had been felled by arrows, one whose throat had been torn through and the other with an arrow buried down to the fletching in his eye.

The same way I'd shot Andras so many years before.

Gliding down beside the bodies I glanced back and forth to ensure no eyes were watching before I allowed myself to shift back to my own form and kneeled beside them. Their blood had frozen in deep scarlet puddles beneath them, the winds already having drifted snow onto their corpses.

Cenric had been ruthless with them, hitting each with a precision that sent equal amounts of pride and horror fluttering to life in my chest.

From the bits of his trail that I'd found earlier I'd seen that he'd slaughtered numerous warriors, then cleaved off their wings before brutalizing them leaving the snapped sinew for all who passed to see.

He was faring well in the Rite, better than I could have hoped. The notion left me feeling immense guilt as I thought on Elain's prophecy, wondering if my intervention was truly needed. Wondering if perhaps my sister's symbols had meant something else entirely and if I was jeopardizing my son's attempt at the Rite.

The thought did not sit well.

Rhys had not stopped trying to reach me through the bond since I'd shut him out, his attempts more panicked each time he'd tried to get through. Each attempt to break past my wall had left me feeling sour inside, curling my soul up into a withered little ball of oiliness.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to tell my mate, couldn't bring myself to show him that I'd broken our son's trust on a whim to try and save his life in a hunt that he was blatantly doing well in.

I knew Rhys wouldn't come looking for me, knew he couldn't because all the warriors were watching his every move in the Windhaven camp, waiting for him to chase after his son and protect him. The same was being done with Cassian and Nesta.

They could not help even if they wanted to, not without risking Cenric's credibility and honor.

I only hoped he would forgive me for my blatant disregard of him - I would not let him try to talk me out of this pursuit, I couldn't risk our son. Even at the risk of my child never speaking to me again.

The thought made my heart clench painfully in my chest.

Casting my attention back to the matter at hand I quickly assessed the fallen warriors' wounds, only a few hours old - meaning my son couldn't have strayed too far from this spot. Pulling at their leathers, I saw the leaf-shaped fastenings that linked them to the Ironwood clans, the ones that had begun this rebellion so many years ago.

I bit my lip to prevent a snarl from slipping from me as I slowly rose, glancing around for my son's trail. I spotted it just ahead, his boot prints deep and clear - he'd been baiting them.

Shifting back into my hawk form I shot into the sky, flying high above and following his winding trail through the labyrinth of the underbrush in the snowy wasteland.


	37. The Rite Part 4

The sun dipped to touch the horizon, its rays dimming to orange as I rode the wind, gliding on the tendrils of ice-kissed mists beneath my feathers. Guilt gnawed at me, relentlessly.

Perhaps I had been wrong, perhaps Elain's prophecy had meant something else entirely.

My mind flitted to my son, shame soaking me as I thought of how rashly I'd acted, how furious Cenric would be if he found out. If he knew that'd I risked compromising the Rite for him.

Maybe I should've just turned around hours ago, headed home and put the trust in my son that he deserved.

Something twisted in my gut at the thought.

No, I had to know that he was safe. Just a glimpse, then I would leave and face the fallout that was no doubt awaiting me once I got home. I didn't dare let my mind acknowledge my mate, the bond still taut and silent. I'd apologize to him later.

I had just dipped into a downward glide, considering just winnowing home, when the scent of nightmares assaulted my nose. Blood, fresh and distinct, mingled with the stench of something sharper, fouler.

It was Cenric's.

My instincts roared in defiance against it as my stomach dropped.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Something was wrong.

I nosedived, twisting violently in the air as I quickly followed the scent to where it wafted from a grove of saplings, terror flushing through my system.

It was the gore speckling the ice I saw first, the harsh odor of death washing over me. A still, dark-haired figure lay prone in the snow, crows already picking at him. A finely carved arrow was embedded in his chest, its shaft shadowed in the fading sunlight.

I sucked in sharp breath. _No_ , no-

I soared forward, searching the figure for that beautiful, cobalt gaze—

My breath escaped in a whoosh as I drew closer and saw that the dark hair was indeed much too long to have belonged to my son, the bound wings beneath him a certain giveaway that he wasn't my child.

No relief came to me though as the sickening scent of Cenric's lifeblood still filled the grove-where was he?

My vision snagged on the arrow protruding from the warrior's chest. I suddenly realized it was far too expertly crafted to have been made in these woods, and the shaft . . .

The arrow's pale shaft was a shade and grain I'd know anywhere, the sight like a brand in my memory. Even the fletching was the same color as the one I'd used to fell Andras a century ago.

The world came to resounding halt as I gazed endlessly at that piece of wood. A sharp blaring bell of horror awoke in me, warning filling my mind and darkening my vision.

I couldn't get enough air.

The pieces of the scene assembled in my mind: the strewn arrows, the dead warrior and the acrid stench of poison that entwined with the scent of Cenric's blood.

They'd attacked him with ash arrows soaked in bloodbane.

The same way Hybern had almost stolen Rhysand from me so long ago.

A quiver began to trace its way through my feathered form, shaking my former regrets free and replacing them with razor-sharp will. Flames flickered to life in my veins.

They were hunting him like hounds cornering a lamed fox.

Rhys's panicked voice finally broke through, sneaking through a tiny spiderwebbed crack, roaring in desperation as he tried to pinpoint me, his magic searching. I snuffed him out, drowning him out in an emptiness that I'd honed like a blade over the last decade.

An adamant wall snapped down into place, ten times as thick and as strong as the last.

Only _that_ silence remained.

An eerie and impenetrable silence that flooded my mind: a void. Crawling, seeping, and leeching all that I was. The world around me slowed, sharpening.

They were going to execute my son.

No.

I saw her snapped wings, so very small and fragile, shattered like a porcelain doll against a dark background of blood. Heard their vicious laughter as I held their minds. The suffocating smell of Rhys's tears-

No.

 _"Long live the King."_

No.

The void summoned the beast, the one I'd faced in the ouroboros, kicking it awake and beckoning it to appear. Ice filtered through my veins as its presence filled my being, prowling restlessly, poised to devour all that stood against it.

I shot into the air, the icy wind driving me forward towards the winding scent of my son where he'd fled.

* * *

It burned.

Hot, fiery ash seared through Cenric's veins as he raced across the never-ending wasteland of ice, his legs quivering beneath him as he tore through the forest.

Bloodbane.

The fucking bastards had soaked the arrows in bloodbane.

So much in fact he was surprised he hadn't already collapsed from the sheer toxicity, and without his magic to combat its effects-

Cheating, lying, arrogant bastards.

His fury was cut short as a fresh wave of excruciating pain tore through him so violently that he nearly collapsed, his shoulder pleading him to stop, his heart pounding sluggishly in his ears as though the poison was freezing his very blood. It begged him to stop, to rest.

The thought of the warriors' arrows piercing his flesh flashed through his mind, their insufferable smirks if he allowed them to catch him—

He willed more strength to his legs as he stumbled over a particularly thorny bush, the brambles tearing at his skin as he fell before he righted himself and dashed forward.

He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

One of the Illyrians shot another arrow just to the left of him, sending him veering to the right, narrowly avoiding the projectile. He gritted his teeth. He couldn't slip them.

The forest around him had begun thin out, shifting to red tinted granite boulders that stood out starkly against the pale land of silence that encompassed him. They were pushing him out of the forest, into a smooth rock outcrop.

An inkling idea came to him as he saw the narrow passage that awaited him just ahead - some type of stone formation he might be able to slip through, to climb where they couldn't see him while he figured out how to save himself.

It was his only shot.

He surged forward, death nipping at his heels as he raced through the narrow passage, hoping that once he came out of the other side he could loop around—

Cenric barely kept his legs beneath him as he came to a screeching halt, dread numbing him as he saw what lay before him.

They'd herded him into a death trap.

The passage had let out into a small box canyon, cliff walls rising nearly thirty feet before him on all sides, their sides so sheer it would have been difficult to climb them at the best of times. And atop those walls stood two warriors, their Illyrian bows pulled tight as they smiled knowingly at Cenric.

Behind him, the other warriors began to close in, their deep laughter echoing hauntingly off the cliff faces.

Whirring about, Cenric watched as the three warriors that had been tailing him casually walked through the low natural archway, their bows taut as they inched towards him. Wildcats playing with their prey.

"You gave us quite the chase, little lord," the biggest clicked his tongue as he stepped forward, toying with the bow in his hands, "But now where will you go?"

They'd known this formation had been here, had scouted the pathway before hunting him down, he realized with no shortage of malice.

Bitter, lying assholes to the end.

A sharp pain exploded in his chest and he swayed, gasping for breath as he steadied himself on a boulder. The poison was eating him alive, tearing him asunder. The flecks of darkness in his vision had him seething, if he'd only had his magic he could shatter them all, mist them into blood rain—

But he had no magic, nothing more than his wits and the few weapons he'd managed to craft. He couldn't hold out against the poison, its hold even stronger since he'd been running, his racing heart sending it gushing throughout his entire body.

They'd likely banked on that too, on running him so the poison spread faster.

Cenric hoped his family would slaughter them all, every last one.

But he'd take these three with him before he fell.

He tightened his grip on his spear as he snarled at the warriors with every bit of rage he could conjure. Guilt begin to seep into his chest as he thought of his mother, of her warning words.

She hadn't been wrong.

But he had to do this on his own.

He closed his eyes, willing his sister's face to his mind: her round freckled cheeks and vibrant violet eyes. He released one breath before peeling his eyes open and brandishing his spear, his injured shoulder tucked close, the embedded ash abrasive and stinging.

 _I'll see you soon, Celeste._

* * *

Valka skidded across the frosted terrain, the wind whipping violently across her face as she swatted at the ice stinging her eyes.

Their tracks were nearly impossible to discern, the indentions in the ice so faint.

She growled in frustration. She had wasted too much time.

 _Faster, you have to move faster._

Picking the direction she assumed their tracks followed, she shot off into the falling shadows.

She had to make it in time, she had no other option.

* * *

Cenric's spear flew from his hand as the warrior on his right punched him in the gut, sending him reeling as he tried to counter. The male on his left stopped him mid-strike, kicking him in the kidney from behind.

White-hot pain seared through Cenric, spearing into his limp shoulder, the momentum sending him tumbling towards the largest warrior.

The male caught him easily, his gloved hands digging into Cenric's leathers. His haunting amber eyes burned like embers as gave a serpentine smile and threw Cenric down, driving the arrow lodged in his shoulder clean through the front of his leathers.

Cenric cried out in agony, tears blurring his vision as he senses tried to orient themselves, blackness blotting out his vision.

 _Get up_ , he roared at himself, _get up and destroy them._

His body wouldn't respond

 _Do it for her, get up for her._

He managed to roll partially onto his right side, blood oozing down his leathers as he panted around the pain, digging his fingers into the ice.

He had to get up.

Before he could right himself the amber-eyed warrior reached down and dug his fingers into Cenric's leathers again before dragging him upright, holding him like a limp child.

The warriors flanking him laughed, loud and tauntingly.

"Where's your bitch, whelp?" he said as he picked Cenric up, twisting the arrow painfully beneath his grip as he pulled him closer. "Or your sire? That piece of shit half-breed and his bastard-born warriors." The warrior tightened his grip, sending an explosion of burning hell through the wound. "We have rules for a reason, boy, rules that your piece of shit father chose to ignore."

Cenric howled in fury as he tried to pry free from the warrior's grasp, willing his body to respond. He wouldn't die like this, wouldn't let them break him like a helpless invalid.

"Where's your mother now? What will she do when she finds her second pup cut to bits?" Cenric longed to claw his face to ribbons - his fingers twitched at his sides. "Or will she abandon you like she abandoned your precious baby sister?" He dragged Cenric closer to hiss in his ear, "Some mother that can't protect her brood. This is why females belong tending the hearth."

Done waiting for the perfect moment, Cenric shot his hands up, ignoring the slash of fire from his shoulder, and gripped the warrior's face, digging his thumbs into those unnerving amber orbs. He'd rip them out like they'd ripped away her wings.

The male couldn't counter fast enough as Cenric drove his fingertips home.

There was an equally satisfying and sickening pop beneath his right thumb and the warrior screamed, prying him away and tossing him down like a broken, discarded doll before his left hand could drive the blow home.

"You fucking bastard!" he roared as he gripped his face, bending over in agony as he pressed his hands flat against the now empty socket, blood dribbling through his fingers. "You'll pay for this! Shoot him! Shoot him!"

Cenric felt the last of the bloodbane finally take hold of his body and shuddered on the icy ground as the last bit of control over his limbs slipped from him. Distantly, he heard the creak of drawn bows above him as the archers on the cliffs above him readied their shots. He had only seconds.

He closed his eyes, allowing a small breath to slip past his lips.

It was over.

He only regretted he'd let them play him, only regretted that he couldn't have saved his sister when this had all happened in the beginning.

It was a worthy ending.

He felt tears well as he thought of her—he missed his sister, wanted nothing more than to see her.

 _Wait for me._

Pressing his face into the ice he readied himself for death's embrace, praying that his mother could survive the precipice that would now lay before her. His breath billowed before him as he heard the snap of a bowstring, waiting for the impact.

It never came.

Instead, he heard the guttered cry of the warriors above him, then another bow twanging and dull thuds as arrows flew and embedded themselves. The canyon echoed with shouts as bodies fell, and he found himself once again struggling against the darkness as he tried to lift himself, tried to clear his fuzzy vision.

"You." He heard the blinded warrior growl as though from a great distance, the sound beginning to dampen. Everything was growing cold around him, the numbness leeching.

No, he thought groggily as he tried to raise his head.

With the last of his vision, he caught sight of a lithe figure atop the canyon wall and watched it drop before him, then darkness consumed him wholly.

* * *

"Me," Valka chirped as she rose from the crouch she'd dropped into from the top of the canyon wall, the Illyrian bow gripped tightly in her palm.

She was so done with all of their shit.

The idiots had left themselves completely open from the back atop the canyon, their guards so simple to break past. The warriors before her would be just as easy to crush.

She smiled at Durek.

"I like the new look, one eye suits you."

"You fucking little bitch," Durek hissed as his two remaining lackeys dropped back and flanked him, their discarded bows now reclaimed, retreating from the limp form of the lord's son. "Why are you here?"

She'd made it in time, barely, though from the color the prince's tanned skin was turning she wasn't so sure of that.

She cracked her neck as she stepped forward, tentatively twirling the ash arrows she had swiped in her gloved fingers.

"Oh, I thought I'd go for a stroll, see why a bunch of Greenhills were lurking in the forest." She stopped, quirking her head to the side, "Though it seems to me like a bunch of overgrown shitbags were having fun playing with their food."

"The witch's dog has no place in this," Durek snarled, the blood leaking rapidly from his eye to soak his face, somehow managing to make him even more ugly than usual. "Go somewhere else, Valka."

"Calling me by my name?" She tutted at him, circling around to step in front of Cenric's worryingly still form. "Well, well, won't you take me to dinner first?"

"I will not spare you, regardless of your allegiance." Finality in his words.

She loved it when males tried to use that dominating, threatening bullshit with her. Loved crushing it beneath her feet and grinding it to dust.

"My allegiance?" He had absolutely no idea. Valka bared her teeth in a wicked grin, brandishing her two ash arrows. "A pity, really, but I suppose I'll have to extend the same courtesy to you."

She struck.

Moving with a swiftness nearly thrice that of a male, she dodged their sloppily fired arrows with ease and broke past the guard of the first warrior, snapping his wrist in the process, before lodging the first arrow in his throat.

Tearing the weapon loose, she pivoted and drove the arrow into Durek's chest before snapping her leg out and kicking him square in his wound. The motion sent him flying backwards, his howl of pain echoing in the falling night.

She couldn't help the smile that broke across her face at the sound.

It faded rapidly, however, as the other warrior snuck up behind and caught her in a chokehold, clamping down on her windpipe with his oversized forearms. She barely resisted the eyeroll as she drove her heel down hard onto his foot and slammed her fist into his sensitive bits.

Because a chokehold was the most creative move the fool could conjure.

She honestly wasn't surprised.

He hissed in pain, releasing his grip just enough for Valka to spin out of the hold and drive the arrow deep into the warrior's heart, twisting the head painfully before shoving him back, watching as his head cracked loudly against the cliff wall.

He did not rise.

Brushing off her hands, Valka turned and swiped up the fallen quiver of ash arrows from the first warrior she'd killed and slowly began to trail her way over to Durek.

She'd never thought she'd get the chance to corner him alone, to deal with him without watching eyes, and with absolutely no repercussions.

The thought filled her with glee.

She was almost glad the lord's son was unconscious, giving her free reign to deal with the bastard before her however she chose.

Hissing, Durek sat up and glared at her, his eye socket bulbous with swollen, torn tissue.

It fit him really.

Disgusting and repulsive in every way imaginable.

Kicking him back, Valka pinned him beneath her boot before standing over him, cocking her head as he glared up at her, foaming through his teeth. His hands were sprawled beside him, wings trapped under his weight. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and he squinted at her, as though struggling to keep her in focus.

The bloodbane was working quickly with him, interesting.

"What's the matter, handsome?" Valka purred, digging her heel into the ash arrow she'd broken off in his chest. He groaned in pain. "Is there something wrong?"

"You've killed four of your own." His expression was murderous, a shame he couldn't move. "You won't get away with this."

"Won't I?" she hummed, putting more weight on the jagged piece of ash in his chest as she slipped one of the extra arrows free. "I don't see who's going to say anything."

"You know what's at stake," he growled, something like fear slipping into his eyes. Pathetic.

"Ridding the resistance of a bastard who can't follow orders," she clicked her tongue, "I'm really not seeing the downside here." Faster than a viper's strike, she drove the extra ash arrow clean through the sensitive flesh of Durek's hand, pinning him.

The male cried out in pain.

"No, I think I'm doing it a favor," she drove another arrow into Durek's other hand, "Besides, don't you remember?" She leaned down next to Durek, her grey eyes flashing dangerously in the fading light. "I've had a score to settle with you for a long time."

"What are you talking about—?"

She drove more arrows into him, puncturing the soft tissue of his belly and then his groin.

"What your father did to my brother, or don't you remember?"

Recognition flared in Durek's remaining eye as his skin turned ashen.

"Don't think for a moment that I ever forgot," she whispered, the sound of the whip cracking in the crisp morning light still haunting her, the way his blood had dripped down his back as he bore the blows intended for another.

For her.

She dug another bolt into his forearm, slicing the sensitive muscle deeply, bloodbane glistening in the wound.

He wouldn't last much longer.

"And since he's not here to extract his revenge, I'm happy to do it for him."

"Fool got those lashings for trying to protect your worthless hide, each was well deserved—"

She twisted the arrow in his gut harshly, snapping the wood off in the wound. He didn't deserve to live, none of the sorry bastards who had surrounded her in her childhood did.

Durek panted in agony.

"You're supposed to be loyal to the resistance, you bitch, it's not your call—"

"The only person I'm loyal to is-" she snarled slowly, her braid swishing over her shoulder as she slipped the final arrow in the quiver free. ". . . Actually, it's none of your business. Fuck off and die."

Drawing back, she drove the last arrow clean through Durek's remaining eye and through to the soft cranial tissue beneath. He thrashed beneath her, lunging and twisting as his body fought against death before growing still.

With a sigh, Valka straightened and turned her attention to Cenric, unnervingly pale and still.

Truly surveying her predicament for the first time, she screwed her face up in annoyance.

She was going to have to carry him the whole way out of this damned canyon. Striding over, she knelt beside him and removed her glove before tentatively pressing her fingertips to his neck, praying for a pulse.

It flickered, faint and irregular.

At least he wasn't dead.

Evaluating the wound through his shoulder, Valka hissed as she noted how the ash and poison had already eaten away at the flesh, the edges beginning to turn dark. She'd have to remove the arrow then cut away the infected bits and cauterize them.

She glanced upwards noting the rapidly darkening sky, she couldn't do it here.

Working her hands underneath Cenric, she pulled him upright, the poor male groaning even in unconsciousness as she righted him. She'd need to be quick and efficient.

Wrapping his good arm about her shoulder she glanced around, calculating the likelihood of encountering other warriors. Given their distance from Ramiel and their direction the chances were slim.

Still, it brought her no ease. She was in no mood to have to patch up the boy and slaughter more egotistical goats.

For now, though, the twilight was silent and still, save for a beautiful white-tailed hawk landing on the canyon wall, watching her with brilliant eyes. Valka narrowed her gaze at the bird as it considered her, then took off and flew upwards, slowly circling above.

She could only roll her eyes as she made her way out of the canyon, grunting as she carried the deceptively heavy Cenric beside her.

This was all bullshit.

* * *

I had arrived too late.

Nesta's young lieutenant had already slaughtered all of the warriors who had cornered Cenric by the time I'd sailed over the box canyon, poised to shift. Their bodies lay strewn inside the canyon, the largest of them peppered with ash arrows.

The sight left me uneasy.

But not nearly as much as seeing my son pale and unmoving, his chest barely rising with an arrow clean through his shoulder.

My entire being screamed in panic as I prepared to soar to him, to reach him, to check him—my blood could heal him, and with the bloodbane-

I was prepared to shift and winnow him back to camp when it occurred to me that Valka would know that I had followed and intervened, immediately disqualifying him from the Rite.

When Cenric awoke he would never forgive me for my intervention.

If he survived.

The thought nearly had me attempting to wipe the Illyrian female's mind and taking my son regardless.

The memory of his bellowing voice echoed in my mind.

I did not know what to do.

So I landed silently and watched, pacing on the tree branch as I strained to see signs of life from my son.

I watched in absolute turmoil as Valka strode towards him and kneeled down, tentatively prodding at his wounds and assessing him.

Would she know how to pack it? How to dress it so that the limb would not become permanently immobile?

I ruffled my feathers in agitation, contemplating, gauging.

As she pulled him upright I heard the groan that escaped his lips and relief washed through me. He was alive.

But for how long?

Rising, she adjusted his weight before glancing around and looking straight at me, her stone-grey gaze nearly as unnerving as my sister's. She held it for a time before rolling her eyes and making her way to leave the canyon.

An idea struck me.

I could not help Cenric in my fae form, but I could lead Valka, show her where to find shelter, where to find the herbs that could heal him—

It was then in the fading light that I saw what she had woven into her disheveled braid: red-tailed hawk feathers standing bold against the inky shade of her tresses.

The pieces of Elain's prophecy fell into place.

 _Without the hawk the wolf will die..._

I immediately took off and circled. I could still help, I had to. It was the only thing keeping me from rushing to my dying son.


	38. The Rite Part 5

Valka lowered Cenric's limp form onto the frigid floor of the cave, a hidden refuge she'd nearly missed, mindfully maneuvering him as to avoid jostling his injured shoulder. The putrid smell of the wound was thick in the stagnant air, filling the narrow chamber with the stench of decay. It was even worse than she'd thought.

She flinched as he let out an unconscious cry of anguish as she adjusted the mangled arm.

Well, at least it meant he wasn't dead, though if the iciness of his body was any indication, she was surprised he hadn't become a corpse already. A minute or two longer in that ruthless frozen wasteland would have spelt his doom.

If it hadn't already.

The raging ice storms had returned full force the moment the sun dipped below the horizon, roiling winter clouds appearing and spewing frozen rain like a goddess of death across the already barren land.

It'd been a miracle Valka had been able to navigate it.

A miracle even that neither of them had stumbled upon a monster in the blinding storm.

She wouldn't have even found this shelter had it not been for the white-tailed hawk that kept conveniently circling overheard and crying out as she had raced through the darkness, leading her like a blind man through the night. She'd narrowly avoided the lurking predators, cursing each time she heard rustling in the dense wood.

With each passing moment Cenric had grown more still against her shoulder, his already ashen skin turning an alarming shade of greyish-blue as she stumbled through the shadows, praying whatever beast was lurking nearby didn't pick up the trail of blood dripping from the male's shoulder.

Stupid of him to think he could face so many on his own.

Foolish of him to have allowed them to herd him like a hunted fox, cornering him in a canyon of death.

He'd be lucky if he ever used the shoulder again, blessed if gangrene didn't set in and steal not only the arm but the entire joint.

Fortunate that he hadn't already become an icicle.

Faecicle?

She shook the ridiculous thought from her head, trying to ignore the chattering of her own teeth.

For his idiocy she didn't think he'd deserve any less. A beautiful body forever preserved in the ice—

She grumbled. That wasn't acceptable.

The cold was draining her, fogging her mind and jumbling her thoughts.

Valka shook her head and gathered herself, returning her attention to the male before her. She'd need to warm him, and quickly.

Grimacing, she unclipped the top of her leathers from her neck, shivering more in the chill cave air with each clasp that came free, her skin prickling beneath the thin wool of her undershirt.

Damn the bastard for making her sacrifice her only protection against the cold.

Curse him for ruining her plan, for stopping her from doing what she needed-

She slipped out of the warm garment and spread it carefully across Cenric, the petite top barely enough to cover his broad chest and shoulders.

The fur-lined leather would have to do until she could get back.

She'd need supplies to build a fire and herbs to pack the wound, herbs potent enough to stop the bloodbane's leeching. She'd never been very knowledgeable when it came to poisons, the vague lessons she'd been schooled in hazy at best in the depths of her memory.

Glancing towards the cave entrance she shuddered viciously, the thought of venturing out into the storm in nothing but her undershirt highly unappealing, especially with her chances of finding what she needed near none.

Still, she had a feeling that a certain bird would be more that useful in helping her find them.

* * *

As expected, the hawk was waiting huddled in a gnarled tree nearby when Valka ventured outside of the cave, the icy winds tearing at her thin shirt as she wrapped her arms around herself in a vain attempt to to stave off the cold. If only her wings had been unbound, they at least would have provided some protection.

Upon noticing her, the bird ruffled its feathers and shot off into the blistering winds, soaring towards the east, likely where the river flowed beneath a bed of ice.

Valka gave one glance back towards the cave entrance, considering if Cenric would be all right alone.

Not that she had much choice in the matter.

Shuddering again in the wind, she tried to ignore the deep shadows that concealed the cave entrance, an impenetrable darkness that even the most skilled of predators would struggle to detect. She suspected where that darkness leeched from.

It would have to do.

Digging her heels into the snow she shot off after the calling bird, watching it weave to and fro above her.

* * *

He was nothing but a phantom on the wind, drifting in the endless sea of existence, watching as the world rolled away beneath him in an ever-gliding blur of gold, green and blue. The gales twisted him in their gallop, tossing and turning him through a whirl of scents and sounds as they danced through the sky.

He was dead.

Or at least he thought he was.

The world had never been so abstract, so impossible to touch. His reeling should have been dizzying but he only found himself curious, calm even, as he flew through the pale sky. As though someone guided his way.

Where would the Mother lead him?

He couldn't remember his name, couldn't remember who he was.

He barely felt it as the gales dropped from beneath him and send him tumbling down, down, down towards the depthless blue below, to the speck of emerald in an ocean of azure. Barely felt it as his being cascaded into a woven basket, so very small and pale.

Exhilaration filled him as he found himself upright, sunlight dappled through the heavy green canopy above, the world bright and new as only a child might see it.

Lush, twisting emerald vines pulled at his feet as he skittered around the base of a broad tree, a giggle passing his lips, gold flashing in his peripherals. He knew she was there, he only had to twirl about the tree and rush towards the bubbling stream-

No, it wasn't him.

It was the mind of someone else, the view through someone else's eyes.

A child's eyes, seeing the world through a soft, sweeping gaze.

A presence so familiar, one that had always danced at the edge of his mind, one whose company had always been there even if he'd never realized it.

A whisper of something so ingrained in his very being it came as natural as breathing, a bond impossible to snap—

The hunger in the pit of her stomach suddenly hit him, an agonizing emptiness that sent him reeling. It'd been three days since she'd eaten, they'd taken to playing in the woods to forget it, to drown out the gnawing sensation of starvation—

Her thoughts diverted away from the pain, onto something sweeter, something better.

That softness called to him, bid him to linger, to watch and become.

So he did.

* * *

Valka's teeth were beyond chattering by the time she reached the river's frozen edge, her eyelashes coated so thickly with ice she had to brush it away to see. She'd long since gone numb, all memory of warmth leeched from her arms and face, her fingers like blocks of stone as she struggled to flex them.

The hawk had disappeared several minutes ago, fluttering into the dense wood where she couldn't see its descent as the snow flurries died away.

So, she'd followed it by scent alone.

Stepping through the copse of trees she finally spotted the bird, perched on a branch overhead watching her intently, as though it willed her to see.

She glanced around, nothing but a thick layer of fresh snow visible along the banks of the river, only the shriveled remains of plants and frozen bark stark against the white background. Even the rush of the water was nearly silenced beneath the sheet of ice.

Nothing that she could sense would be of any use to Cenric—

Her eyes snagged on a small cluster of pink-flowered weeds peeking up through the snow, resilient things to be alive in the throes of the storms, and a pile of dark wood sitting atop the snow in the shadow of a tree.

She quirked a brow and glanced toward the hawk, which was now studiously ignoring her.

Shaking her head, Valka picked through the weeds and wood, surprised to see that they were dry. She would have never found this on her own.

With a sigh, she bent and collected the supplies, tucking the wood under one arm and shoving the weeds into a pocket of her pants. Gazing up at the tree once more, she pitched her voice so the hawk above could hear her, sarcasm coating her tone.

"Thank you, oh wise Forest Spirit," she bowed mockingly at the bird, "who just happens to smell distinctly like my High Lady—"

The hawk froze in the tree above her, its eyes comically large. Valka only sent it a knowing look. She'd known of Feyre's presence since her arrival at the canyon, had caught wind of her scent the second she'd thrust that ash arrow into Durek's remaining eye.

"You really think I didn't notice?" she inquired blandly, watching as the bird ruffled its feathers before gliding down from the tree and shifting before her.

I'd been caught red handed.

Rising from my kneeling position before my sister's lieutenant I tried to keep neutrality on my features, even as my body quivered in fear as precious minutes slipped past.

"How."

"You didn't bother shifting your scent."

Shame flooded me as I realized the critical mistake I'd made, the amateur move that would cost Cenric everything, all because of my reckless panic-

My eyes landed on Valka. She knew of my presence. She could destroy everything, send my son's shot at the Rite crumbling. Without thinking, I dove for my daemati powers, wrangling them upwards. Wiping her mind would be easy enough—

My power slammed against a shield of grey stone, thick as it was tall, impenetrable, exactly like Nesta's—

"Don't even try it," she hissed, her eyes narrowing.

My power recoiled in shock, twisting in surprise as a throb of pain lanced through my skull, the cold wind harsh against my face.

Shifting the supplies in her arms, the female looked at me like I was the most foolish person she'd ever laid eyes on, impatience on her sharp features.

"I have no intention of telling anyone about your presence here." My power flickered in surprise, uncertain how to proceed. "Lucky for you, no one else who could have sensed you is alive any longer."

A shudder shook her frame as her voice tremored.

It took me a long moment to realize she was without a jacket, was shivering in the cold as she stood before me, her thin shirt no protection against the whipping winds.

I knew instantly where her jacket had gone.

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes at me this time. "Did you really think Nesta would let him walk into this without someone watching his back?"

The words filtered through my mind, realization seeping in.

He hadn't been alone.

It was too late to turn back now and Cenric needed attention, quickly.

"Here." I pulled a small vial from my pocket, thanking the Mother I'd thought to bring it as a precaution, then slipped a knife from my belt and ran it across my wrist. The red droplets steamed in the icy air as I allowed them to drip into the vial. "Give this to him, it contains the healing power of Dawn. It can combat the bloodbane."

Valka only watched me curiously before nodding and taking the vial.

"I will keep away anyone – or anything- that tries to attack you. Just take care of him." My stomach clenched in fear as I tightened my cloak around me. ". . . Thank you."

Valka only shook her head, still shivering.

"You need to go back into hiding, there may be no one else here now who will call foul play but you can't avoid everyone forever." Tucking the supplies under her arm she turned to face me once more, her mouth twisting in amusement as she cast a glance over my shoulder. "You might also want to explain yourself to the shadowsinger."

* * *

It was the gasp and fluttering of the little lord's eyelashes that had a breath of relief slipping from Valka's lips.

He'd gone completely still and blue while she'd left him and she'd tried to rouse him numerous times before he'd finally sucked in a substantial breath.

Despite the High Lady's recklessness, she was glad that Feyre still sat somewhere outside where she had accompanied her back to their resting spot. No doubt the shadowsinger along with her.

She imagined they'd exchanged a tense conversation in her absence, one she was glad she hadn't bore witness too.

Instead, she needed to pour her full concentration into trying to patch the male's shoulder. She didn't have the time to keep watch.

The cave seemed pleasantly warm compared to the bitter winds outside, but Valka still shivered violently as she pulled away from him, evaluating the tools she'd laid out before her. They would somehow have to work to patch him up. Makeshift twine she'd made from the gut of a deer killed days before, the hide dried to a rough waterskin she'd strung between two branches and dropped hot stones in to make the liquid boil, and a poorly carved needle she'd whittled down from a small shard of bone.

A poor array of medic's tools to begin with, even in skilled hands, and she was certainly no healer. She could only hope the Lord's son wouldn't be left with too terrible of scarring once the mending was complete.

That was if her hands could quit shaking long enough for her to even begin.

With the Lady and shadowsinger somewhere keeping watch, she'd risked a fire, small but notable, its faint light illuminating the cave walls in flickering hues of orange. It had yet to thaw her frozen form.

Shoving her hands close to the flames she willed them to warm, she needed to work and quickly.

She'd evaluated the male's wound and cursed when she'd seen the state of the skin puckered around the arrow's entry point, the coloring sickening and greasy. It had already begun to turn black around the edges, the tissue nearly peeling away from the arrow's shaft.

Black was bad.

Really bad.

Nesta owed her ten times over.

Pulling her hands away from the fire she willed the shaking from them as she carefully rolled Cenric to the side, gripping the tip of the arrow where it poked from the back of his shoulder. She braced her hand against the wood, ignoring its wrongness, and snapped the head of the arrow off. With one swift movement, she yanked the other end free, a cry of torture slipping past his lips as he fell back against the cave floor.

Oily, dark blood welled from the wound, pooling sluggishly on the stone.

Cursing, Valka ripped her undershirt off and pressed it hard onto the injury, willing the bleeding to stop. Maintaining the pressure with one hand, she popped the cap from the vial free with the other and pressed it to his lips.

Feeding the boy his mother's blood made Valka's skin crawl, but she had no other choice in the matter.

The scarlet stained his lips as she forced his mouth closed, making him swallow. Once empty, she tossed the vial to the side and pressed both of her hands back to the wound.

Almost instantly color began to flood the male's face. Valka tried not to sigh too audibly. Within minutes the blood flow beneath her hands had faded. Removing the shirt, she let out a low whistle of appreciation as she watched the wound begin to knit itself, slowly.

Too slowly.

The concoction they'd consumed to drain their magic was still working to prevent the full power of the lady's blood to heal him then. Valka hissed and immediately set to work.

Pulling the pink-flowered weeds from the pile, she dumped them into the hot water skin, allowing them to brew.

Casting a glance toward the darkness outside the mouth of the cave, she reached into her boot and pulled free a fine, silver stiletto she'd managed to sneak past the brutish warriors when they'd patted her down before dropping her off. It was a small thing, useful only in close proximity.

An assassin's weapon.

It had been a gift from him, years ago, and she'd cherished it from the moment he'd given it to her, her only means to protect herself in his absence.

He was the only reason she was here, playing this game of treachery, playing a role of dog and loyal soldier to obtain the end she knew they both had so desperately desired.

She glanced at the sharp blade in her hand, weighing it gently in her palm.

 _A weapon is only as strong as the person who wields it. Give it precision and purpose._

His words, clear as they had been when he'd told her that rang in her mind, the memory of his eyes glinting as he'd handed her the tiny blade replaying again and again _._

The only person she'd ever truly been loyal to.

She eyed Cenric's throat, watched the way his pulse flickered faintly in the fire light. He'd come so close to ruining everything she'd carefully laid out over months.

And now being so close to being able to end it, to reveal the truth of everything . . .

She flipped the blade in her hand, its wicked, deadly edge singing. Its purpose was to kill-but to use it to scrape away rotted tissue? It would do.

* * *

The dirty, torn pale dress swished about her knees as she twirled about the base of another tree, launching forwards towards gurgling stream, her grimy bare feet pattering against the soft forest floor. Nimbly, she hopped over moss-covered rocks as she chased the sound of snapping twigs.

 _I'll catch her!_ Her voice chimed light and sweet in her mind, _She won't outrace me this time!_

Exhilaration that only a child could feel flooded her, sending melancholy dancing through his being, a sense of longing that consumed him.

Longing for what?

Where was he? What was he?

He couldn't be bothered to remember. He could stay here forever, watching the world through this familiar child's eyes-

The girl stumbled over a set of low branches before sliding down behind a low bush, peeking through the sun splattered leaves, searching—

 _There she is!_ her thoughts chimed as she poised to pounce—

He saw nothing, only a bubbling stream.

 _I've got her!_

Where was she? Why couldn't he see whoever she was?

Without warning a force slammed into him, sending flying free of the child's body, darkness blotting out the emerald forest as fire, molten and raging consumed him. A scream worked its way free of him, a cry of pain as he struggled away from the flames.

He wanted to return to the vision, to that sense of familiarity-

The pain was drowning him, the sight of the child gone in the distance as reality gripped him, dragging him bitterly through the darkness, like claws tearing through his very essence, pulsing through his torso-

 _Cenric, wake up, you stubborn ass fool-_

Cenric.

My name is Cenric.

Memories slammed into him as he was dragged up and away from the serene kaleidoscope dream, up, up and up into the inky darkness that loomed above him, a cold harsh reality he didn't want to see-

* * *

Pain laced through Cenric as he woke, his body convulsing against the hard ground as a face swam into focus above him, locks of dark hair framing a feminine face.

"Celeste?" he murmured, willing the face to focus, willing those violet eyes to be peering owlishly down at him.

Was he dead? Was this where the end of existence lead to? It was terribly cold and painful if so—

"Not even close, pretty boy." A hand slapped him none-too-gently on the face several times, rousing him further. "You need wake up so you can drink this foul-smelling concoction, I'm not going to risk you choking on this while you snooze away like some sleeping maiden—"

Recognition settled over him.

The large almond eyes and soft feminine face he had expected faded away to angled, stony orbs and sharp, bird-like features. Nothing like the sister he had expected to find in the afterlife.

Was this the afterlife?

"Valka?" His voice cracked as he spoke, flinching at the dryness of his throat. Where was he? What had happened? His eyes widened as the memories of the days before began to slink in, coming to life one by one. Durek's deceit, the ash arrows dipped in bloodbane, the agonizing pain before he'd slipped to unconsciousness.

"The one and only." The female's sharp face moved out of view as she straightened, her Illyrian leathers buttoned up to her throat. Casting a glance down at him, she read the questions racing through his mind. "And before you ask, no, you're not dead but you certainly gave it your best shot. No, none of them made it, and no, the Rite's not over yet." She flipped her wind-whipped braid over a shoulder, grey eyes bright in the fire. "Does that cover it?"

He nodded his head once, his vision swimming as he tried to right himself. Moving his shoulder, he was met with a stabbing pain that had him immediately settling against the freezing floor again. The joint still burned to high heavens.

How was he still alive?

What had that dream even been about? Who had that little girl been?

Why was Valka here of all people?

"I-"

"Ah-ah, no talking." Valka knelt next to him as she cut him off, a crude water skin in her hands. "Here, drink this, all of it. Now."

She didn't give him the chance to protest as she tipped the water skin and forced the warm liquid down his throat, the acrid taste nearly making him gag. Once empty, she pulled the flask away, watching him with sharp eyes.

"You need to leave that joint immobile as long as possible." She settled next to him, her inky hair gleaming in the bright light of the fire. "We've a long way to travel if we plan to best these bastards before the end of the Rite."

"I don't need your help." Annoyance filtered through at the thought of being assisted, this had been his task, not anyone else's. His head swam and the room began to spin, his body suddenly unbearably hot.

There was still bloodbane in his system.

"I'm not going to even grace that with a response."

"Why are you even here?" He tried to sound harsh but it only came out as a broken grunt, his throat raw. A stench of blood filled his nostrils catching his attention. Glancing around, his eyes snagged on a discarded fabric to his right, the once creamy material now blood-soaked and grimy. Hidden in the shadows of the fire to the left lay a discarded vial-

"Because an illustrious forest spirit offered me gold and riches beyond my wildest dreams if I helped you," the female snorted and smirked, "and virgins. Offered me as many virgins as I could carry if I agreed to save your sorry, pathetic ass, so I came."

Annoyance danced through Cenric as he attempted to shoot her a dirty look, but to no avail. His heart still thundered in his chest but he at least felt . . . whole. Sleep was tugging at him.

"Whatever," he mumbled, feeling himself being lost to consciousness as his eyes fluttered, the pain fading away to a dull ache as he plummeted towards sleep. Maybe he could return to that dream of the little girl playing tag on the island, could return to a place that wasn't so hell-infested.

Could ignore the scent he'd undeniably caught from that vial.

He'd nearly fallen on to sleep when Valka's voice piped up again, all sarcastic notes gone.

"Cenric," Valka's voice echoed somewhere near him as his vision darkened, suddenly sounding very small, so different from the female he'd come to know in the Illyrian camp. Was he dreaming again? Hallucinating as the poison worked its way free from his system? In the few words they'd exchanged previously, he couldn't recall her ever calling him by his name. He struggled to listen. "There is something I desperately need to tell you, without any listening ears—"

His senses failed him as darkness won and dragged him deep into the depths of slumber.


	39. The Rite Part 6

**_Authors Note: Character portrait of Cenric is up! storyteller4271/art/Cenric-811869998_**

 ** _Also consider listening to Lullaby of Woe and The Skellige Battle Theme, they were used for inspiration while writing! Enjoy!_**

Though the foul weather seemed to have finally broken for good, days of trekking through the ice-encrusted forest hunting for straggling warriors had left Cenric drained but alert, irritation glazing his mind.

They'd had no luck in finding any.

All of the trails they'd come across were old, winding towards Ramiel's looming bulk in the distance.

They'd been further behind than either he or Valka had expected and had spent the previous days racing for the peak, making up for lost time. They only had one day remaining to make it to Ramiel and ascend it. The Rite would end at sundown.

Fortunately, they were only a few miles from the sacred peak, with plenty of time to reach the mountain's base and begin the climb.

Not that it had ever been Cenric's true goal.

The thought of not slaughtering the remaining warriors on his list left him sour. Perhaps he'd have a stroke of luck and could find them before they climbed Ramiel, he still had hours of daylight, fresh rays of the newly risen sun gilding the treetops.

A sudden, sharp pain shot through his shoulder, forcing him to grit his teeth against the agony. He clenched his fist in the sling, tightening the muscle, willing it to cease its complaining. The bloodbane had not left his system entirely and he suspected shards of ash still remained in the immobile joint.

Valka had insisted on placing it in a makeshift sling, telling him if she didn't he'd regret it years down the road when the joint was knotted with scar tissue and he'd been left like a limp doll with limited motion.

He'd snarled at the insinuation, even though truth rang in her words.

His arguments that the idea was preposterous had abruptly stopped when the Valka had punched him solidly in his stitched wound and nearly sent him tumbling, black spotting his vision.

He'd begrudgingly worn the sling after, cursing the foul little female for all her worth.

She'd only smiled at him in that infuriating way that made his blood boil before trotting off ahead and telling him to stay close.

As though he needed protection.

Still, he kept near her, watching as she expertly trekked through the forest, surprisingly fast considering her petite frame. He'd had to jog a few times just to keep up with her.

He kept his focus on the back of her head, watching it bob as she nimbly hopped over forest debris, her motions entirely fluid. There was no doubt she'd been trained by Nesta's deadly hand.

It was better than acknowledging the near silent but ever-present flutter of wings above, the white-tailed hawk that wove in the whipping winds, appearing and disappearing on the horizon every few hours.

Cenric ground his teeth in irritation.

At least Valka seemed none the wiser to their escort; she hadn't acknowledged the bird's presence in the days it had followed them. Hadn't so much as glanced its way.

He'd asked her about the "forest spirit" she'd encountered that night he'd been injured, just to ensure his mother hadn't foolishly given herself away. She'd merely smiled at him and told him a little winged sprite had visited her and offered her riches if she only obeyed its wishes and helped him.

She claimed it had led her directly to where he'd been herded by the Ironwood clan and helped her in obtaining shelter and supplies.

Cenric had snorted at the absurdity of it. He didn't believe her tale for a moment and told her as much.

She'd only smiled again and told him that was the truth and that she swore on her mother's life concerning its authenticity.

He'd dropped the discussion about it, relenting. He knew he'd get no further with her, knew she'd only spin a deeper, more ridiculous tale to spiral him away from the truth.

He could only hope his mother had been careful in her assistance, had hidden herself well enough that the female before him hadn't witnessed her intervention firsthand.

Not that it would undo the already gaping wound she'd dealt to his mission in following, the direct dismissal of what she'd sworn to him she wouldn't do.

He slammed down on the icy rage.

They would have words later, when the Rite was completed and the last of the traitorous filth had been eradicated.

"Hey, pretty boy," Valka called from her position ahead of him, poised on the top of a small ravine overlooking the last deep meadow before the jagged rock-fall at base of Ramiel, "come here. I believe I've found something that will pull you out of your sulking."

He bristled, but climbed up beside her.

"There," she said, pointing to an array of large boot prints, deep and fresh, no more than a few hours old, "looks like we've found the trail of the friend you made at the beginning of the Rite. With any luck we can catch the bastard before he makes the top of the mountain. What do you say?"

Indeed, the scent of the bastard he'd squared off with in the great tent wafted to his nose, a fresh trail that wove blatantly through the trees.

Cenric pulled his arm free from the sling, rotating and testing the joint. It still stung, but he could move it, and to finish the arrogant prick who'd instigated the additional worry of his mother-

"Lead the way."

I soared high above, watching my son as he and Valka wove through the barren landscape, covering miles and miles of harsh terrain rapidly.

They'd been efficient, racing across the expanse like two wraiths of shadow, leaving no trail to follow.

Nesta had done her work well training the grey-eyed female. Her skill was exceptional.

Somehow, I'd found peace in knowing she traveled by my son's side.

I'd have to thank Nesta later.

Cenric was just as capable, mindfully planting false trails as they moved, keenly aware of his surroundings as he marked his position and watched, no doubt looking for other warriors.

He'd been pale but whole when he'd exited the cave the morning after his injury, his cobalt eyes sharp as he'd taken in his surroundings and followed after Valka into the billowing snows. Such knee-wobbling relief had flooded me that I'd nearly sobbed before following after him, feeling Azriel's presence not far behind as he kept to the shadows.

My confrontation with the shadowsinger still made me cringe, the memory of the cold filling me as I was suddenly informed of just how unaware I'd been.

Even after over a hundred years of companionship, Azriel's tendency to materialize out of nowhere still scared the shit out of me.

I nearly jumped from my skin as I turned away from my sister's lieutenant and caught the gleaming eyes of our Court's shadowsinger, his wings pulled close against the slashing winds as he stood in the shadows of the copse of trees, his sharp features wreathed in darkness.

Here at the behest of my panicked mate no doubt. I struggled to hide the shame that I could feel spilling over my features.

He was more than my spy-my friend, my brother.

I had been rash in my decision to come here, careless.

I flinched at the thought.

Even though that decision might very well prove to be the only thing that saved my son's life.

No, I would face him with no remorse, without shame and without explanation.

Eyeing the shadowsinger warily, Valka ducked her head and quickly made herself scarce, slipping through the shadows of the trees and disappearing into the frozen night with no more than a whisper of snow.

Squaring my shoulders, I turned to face Azriel fully.

We stared at one another for a time, a battle of wills clashing as we both held our grounds, his gaze heavier than the greatest stone. Unsurprisingly, I broke the silence.

"I made the right decision." My voice had hardened, the voice of not only a High Lady but of a mother, sure and certain of her actions. "I will not apologize for it. I will explain everything to Rhys later, after this has ended."

"I'm not here because of Rhysand," Azriel's voice was inky, nearly as cold as the winds blowing about us, "I'm here at Cenric's request."

Surprise flitted through me and must have shown on my face because the shadowsinger continued.

"He wants them completely eradicated," the winds increased to a wail, the cold making me shiver. "He asked me to follow, to track and observe. To see which clans' grudges run deepest."

His gloved palm rested on Truth-Teller, knuckles pressing taut against the fabric.

Something sour twisted inside of me with that knowledge, that Azriel had been following Cenric, had planned with him to help hunt the bastards down in secret. In knowing he hadn't intervened when they'd brought ash arrows and had herded him like a lamb for slaughter.

Had anyone even considered telling me this? To not leave me in a pit of depthless fear?

My voice was not my own as I said, "You thought not to intervene?"

"I was ordered not to."

The stark, honest words fell upon me like a ton of bricks, heavy and suffocating.

Azriel only watched with that indifferent stare, unnervingly still as he stood before me.

Silence.

Always silence with him.

I gritted my teeth, the winds around us suddenly ceasing, bending beneath the will of my magic as I stalked closer.

"You mean to tell me," the words came out in a bitter stream, fury building beneath my skin, "that you were following him and allowed them to herd him, to nearly kill him because you were ordered to just observe?"

Fire sparked in that gaze as he adjusted his feet shoulder-width apart, his lips only down turning the slightest. I'd struck a raw nerve in that accusation. I couldn't bring myself to even bother to care.

He was my son, my life to protect if no one else would bother-

"Of course," a broken bitter laugh, from the creature I'd become after losing my youngest, "what is the life of my last child? I've already lost the first why not the second?" Delirious, I was becoming delirious with grief—

"Feyre." A warning.

He could see the plummet, the fine line I toed as I stepped closer and closer to the edge, to the plummet I'd taken when I'd found her shredded wings.

He would have allowed my son's death, all on my son's reckless, stupid order—

Azriel had been there the whole time, watching.

I threw a hand out, bracing myself on the nearest tree. Such raw, terrible grief tore through me, ripping me asunder, dragging me down into the depths of that bottomless pit, to that hole of loathing and hatred.

They hadn't told me, had left me out . . .

Who had plotted and planned?

The image of Nesta's lieutenant rose in my mind, the flickering of Azriel's shadows-

Who else?

Who else had deemed me unfit to have the knowledge that was laid before me—

A kick from the mating bond reverberated through me, Rhys's panic palpable as though my encroaching sense of doom had leaked down the mating bond.

No, Azriel was not here on his order.

Powerless. I was becoming powerless again—

"What happened to 'we will serve and protect'?" Hot tears streamed down my face, slipping free to trickle one by one. "You swore it to me, Azriel, swore to my mate, to our family—"

They'd hidden it from me, omitted me—a century-old feeling gripped me, that exclusion, that feeling of unknowing. My grip on reality was slipping, the sorrow rearing up to devour me whole like it had all those years ago, swarming, swallowing—

Violet eyes, freckles, raven locks.

Gone, she was gone, just like my son would soon be-

"-to Celeste . . . you swore you'd protect her," I snarled, pouring a decade's worth of venom into words I did not mean, into a wound I knew I'd later regret inflicting. The pain had to go somewhere, find some release. "Some vow that was. Where is she now, Azriel?" I felt completely hollow, empty. "With her wings buried in icy soil, alone atop that mountain, all because they slipped through your net, and now my son because you 'swore' to him- "

"Enough."

It was the tone, the hint of sorrow and fury that coated that otherwise flat tone that slammed me back to reality. Reeling, I lifted my gaze back to Azriel, to my brother who stood before me, wreathed so thickly in shadows I couldn't discern his features.

"Azriel-"

He was gone, dissolved into darkness.

Azriel had not appeared to me since, but had made his presence known as we'd tailed after my son, even as he kept a healthy distance.

It hadn't been his fault in any capacity, it hadn't been any of our faults. The only ones to blame were the bastards who kept dividing our family, breaking us and wounding us in ways that cut deeply beneath the surface.

I owed him an apology, many. One I would give once this Rite had ended, along with the numerous others I owed.

Once this ended.

I'd finally let Rhys through, had soothed his panic with apologies, with explanations and images of the terror-filled day and night I had faced.

I felt him slump in relief as I spoke to him through the bond, his anger non-existent. Instead it was worry that gnawed at him, even as his grip on the walls of my mind loosened, turned reverent.

He'd almost said to hell with it and followed me into the Steppes. I was glad he hadn't.

A mess, this had already turned out to be such a mess—

Wearily, I had shown him the conversation that had unfolded with Azriel, the poorly-controlled emotions I'd thrown at him so carelessly.

I'd felt him cringe clear through the bond.

 _He knows you don't mean it_ , Rhys had tried to comfort me, _He'll come around_.

I could only hope my mate was right.

For the time being I needed to focus on our son's completion of the Rite, on getting him up that mountain with no more incidents.

He and Valka had turned from their perch atop the ravine overlooking the valley and taken off down a deer trail, following deep indentions in the soil toward a copse of trees at the base of Ramiel.

Rallying the wind beneath my wings, I swiftly followed after.

Cenric and Valka followed the warrior's trail down the winding deer trail and across the still snow-covered valley to the foothills of Ramiel where a thick copse of aspen trees rustled, their branches bone-white and bare in the chill breeze. Here, the male's scent diverged down two paths, twisting out of sight beneath heavy shadows where the aspens gave way to looming firs and underbrush.

The thick foliage had blocked nearly all the snow from reaching the ground here, but still no leaf litter or gravel sat upon the path, its surface unusually smooth with no tracks as though it had been swept clean, the dark soil seemingly absorbing all light.

 _Strange,_ Cenric thought, _that he would choose such a spot to ambush stray warriors_.

A stagnant wind danced passed them, saturated with the stench of forest decay and something . . . sweeter. No birds sang in the copse, no rustle of small creatures-

"He must be this way," Valka murmured, slipping one of her makeshift daggers from her belt and peering deep into the shadowed path. "Thinks he's clever laying two different trails." A snort. "Amateur."

Did she not sense it?

Something sat uneasy with Cenric as he gazed down the trail, a voice whispering for him to turn away. They should leave-

"Getting spooked, city boy?" Valka inquired, cutting him a look of amusement that had any of his reluctance evaporating. "You can stay here if you want, so you don't have to face," she made claws with her fingers and wiggled them, " _the Beastie_. Better known as a prick with a little dick complex."

"Lead the way," he grumbled, the voice that had whispered to him now silenced, "You take the right fork and I'll take the left. We'll corner him at the end."

"That's better," Valka grinned, throwing her head back before slinking off into the shadows, her footfalls silent. "Where are you, sweet face? Come play."

Bracing himself, Cenric rolled his injured shoulder before venturing down the left path.

"Ooh, how scary," Valka muttered to herself, looking about the path, watching for any sign of the arrogant bastard she'd faced down in the tent. "Look at me, the brave Illyrian warrior hiding in a little forest path, trying to bait stragglers for glory."

She moved steadily down the narrow path, watching as the sun high above was slowly filtered away to shadow by the thick branches of the overhead trees.

A clever place to hide and ambush, if one were wise enough to cover his scent. Both he and the High Lady could use a lesson or two in subtlety.

She was beginning to wonder how far the prick had wandered into the overgrowth when movement flashed in the corner of her eye.

Finally.

Brandishing her blade, she made to launch herself and strike when, instead of a face brutalized by scars, a set of familiar features materialized from the shadows. She froze, all thoughts draining from her.

The figure let out a small, deep chuckle as he stepped from the dense shadows, the bits of remaining light highlighting his high broad cheekbones and vibrant emerald eyes. He was exactly the same as the last time she'd seen him, only without the blood of the High Lord soaking his clothes.

Valka's dagger went clattering to the dirt path beneath her.

"Miss me, sister?"

Full lips pulled up in a small half smile, his wings held proudly behind him above his broad shoulders.

Valka was breathless, tears welling at the corners of her eyes, as she disbelievingly whispered, "Silbah."  
-

A sense of otherworldliness permeated the area, causing the hair on Cenric's arms to fleck up, his instincts willing him to flee as he continued deeper down the path.

It felt ancient.

He knew Ramiel was sacred, but this power-

Another draft of wind set the trees rustling, a feeling of wrongness saturating it, that sickeningly sweet smell becoming more pronounced the further he went. Maybe this was the power his father had described feeling from the stone at the mountain's peak, perhaps it just saturated the area around Ramiel and with his sensitivity to magic—

Somehow, he knew that wasn't the case.

After minutes of unnervingly silent walking Cenric found a series of tracks beneath him, deep boot marks that careened off towards the left, gouged deep into the earth as though whomever they'd belonged to had struggled.

Slipping one of his rough blades free, he inched forward, following the boot prints as they gave way from steps to deep, continuous paths, as though the victim had finally succumbed and had been dragged the rest of the way.

Some warrior that the bastard had likely lured and killed before dragging off into the underbrush to loot and hide him—

But there was no blood.

Strange, also, that no other scent other than that of the warrior he was tracking was present.

He tentatively stepped away from the path and began moving through the underbrush, looking for where the tracks ended. That sweet smell was overwhelming now, saturating the air so thickly that Cenric coughed, nearly gagging.

Pressing through a patch of small trees, he tried to discern any shapes in the darkness. He only found piles of conifer needles, as though they'd been scraped away from the path and scattered beyond it. A few broken branches and rocks, both large and small—

Water dripped down onto Cenric's ear and slid down his neck, racing for his collar. Reaching up, he wiped at the water, surprised to find snow melting in the frigid temperatures-

The sweet smell was now unbearable.

Where was it coming from?

Pulling his fingers from his neck he found that it hadn't been water that had dripped on him but a dark, slightly oily liquid, no doubt the source of that sweet smell. Wrong, this was wrong. The muscles in his back bunched as he shot his attention upwards.

There above him, hanging like a loose canvas was a blanket of skin, pulled taut between the branches. Not a skin that had been cut and pulled free but one that had been deflated, drained, as though the tissue and bones inside had been melted and sucked away. And there, draped across the branches above the skin like a sheet of leather . . . wings.

With horror, Cenric realized the face belonged to the warrior who had faced him at the beginning of the Rite, the skin of his long nose and chin drooping towards the forest floor, dripping that dark substance.

Another drop fell onto Cenric's face, splattering his cheek. He staggered back, gagging.

This was a trophy, a marker of territory.

This wasn't an Illyrian ambush, not by a long shot.

No, this was something far deadlier, something that was preying on the fresh game abundant in the Steppes. Something that wasn't supposed to be in these mountains.

There had only even been stories, legends of such creatures. They'd been extinct for millennia, now no more than whispers told over campfires in the dark cold of the Illyrian nights, meant to frighten children to bed.

Cenric swallowed hard as he looked gazed up at the other trees, limp corpses hung like banners. All of them other warriors who'd had their insides sucked out and had been hung as a canopy for the monster's home.

He'd found the nest, the place where it fed, which meant the path that Valka had followed-

She was its next victim.

He burst back onto the path and rushed through band of trees that separated the paths, pushing his legs into a full sprint. He had to find her and then they needed to run, fast.

This was no manner of creature they could face, and without his magic. . . their only option would be to flee. He had to find her.

"You . . . you're here," Valka swallowed past the tears as she took a step forward, reaching tentatively for her brother who watched her carefully. He'd come back for her . . . "You actually came."

"Did you think I would forget you?" His voice was the same deep whisper she remembered, the same broad hand reaching for her, beckoning her forward, that hand that had reared her, that had crafted every bit of the person she was.

How many years had it been?

How long ago had been that'd he'd left in the night with one order, only one.

Home, he was home-

"I did what you told me," she affirmed, wiping futilely at her eyes as she inched forward, "everything you told me."

He looked at her with such pride, his beautiful features nearly glowing as he took her in.

The only one who she'd ever been loyal to.

To her final dying breath.

The only one she would bleed herself dry to serve, to protect.

"I know," he assured her, and his soft smile appeared, so different from the monster that they'd painted him to be-never with her, never that monster with her- "Valka, I know. But we must go, time is running short, they'll be here soon. I need you."

It was over, this game she'd been playing was over. Crumbling into dust beneath her. She could taste her freedom.

Stepping forward, she reached out a tentative hand to take his—

An arm suddenly clamped like a vice around her waist, faster than even she could detect, pulling her up and away from her brother, stumbling as it maneuvered her away.

"Valka!"

The scent, the voice . . . it was Cenric.

Horror washed through her, no, Cenric had seen him—he would ruin everything, give his presence away, uproot all that she'd ever cared about.

She had to explain, to get Silbah away, quickly, to keep him hidden-

"It's a trap," Cenric snarled as he pulled her back, reeling away from Silbah and keeping her pinned tight to him. Her brother only watched with cool calm, tilting his head towards the side, observing as he always did, "keep away from it—"

"Cenric," Valka was grappling for purchase, trying to push out of his grip, "it's not what it seems, please, let me explain—"

"You're damn right it's not," Cenric hissed, lowering into a defensive stance but keeping Valka tight in his good arm as he took another step back, "it's a leshka, luring warriors into its den to feed on."

"What the fuck are you spouting about?!" Valka screamed, irrational fury filling her, "Leshka don't exist anymore, they're a fable! Can't you see it's my—"

Silbah's face twisted, morphing only slightly, as though his skin had pulled too tight, his eyes going misty white.

"Valka . . ." His voice was now many, screeching and wispy as he stepped forward and reached for her. "Sister, we have to leave."

"What are you—" Her eyes widened in horror as she reeled away from that hand, now pressing harder to Cenric as he pulled her further back down the path. Terror washed through her, shame for her foolishness beginning to flood her. "You piece of shit," she hissed, lips peeling back from her teeth, "you piece of shit!"

The creature was smiling as the illusion it held began to shift, giving away to the monstrous form beneath, sharp bone spikes running up the length of its spine as it lowered itself onto all fours, the skin peeling away from the rotting flesh beneath, a jaw of bone forming between its shoulder blades, filled with rows of jagged teeth.

It was just like the horror stories, the bedtime tales she'd been told as a child to scare her into behaving. But somehow so much worse.

Cenric hadn't released his hold on her, keeping her pressed close as though he feared she'd fly off toward the creature again. Protecting her, he was trying to protect her.

Hot, angry tears fell down her face as she bore witness to the creature's shift.

Rotten, infected claws appeared on the front legs, scratching the ground beneath it erratically, while the back shifted to hooves, pale bone replacing long fingers. Atop the jaw Silbah's face expanded and distorted, growing a limp, almost humanoid, deflated body laid down the length of the jaw, creating the head, its feet curving upward into a twisted mockery of antlers. And the face . . . it rose up with ungazing milky eyes and smiled a toothless smile, as it reached out a stump of a hand, calling Valka's name again and again.

Valka felt herself nearly go flying as Cenric threw her to the side, turning her and grabbing her shoulder, propelling her forward. "RUN!"

Needing no further incentive, she surged forward, racing down the path as the creature shot after them like lightning, screaming Valka's name.

Cenric flew down the path, his breath a rasp in his throat as he and Valka struggled to stay ahead of the creature. Its high-pitched screaming grew closer and closer as it raced after them, that putrid sweet smell filling the air once again.

He didn't have to look over to see that Valka kept in step with him, the smell of the salt of her tears still stinging his nose.

He did not know what she had seen but what the creature had shown him . . . he could not blame her for them.

Leshka preyed on the guilt and desire of living beings, warping their image to fit whatever haunted their prey the most, to lure them in with those they wished most to see.

Another unearthly screech echoed close behind them, eliciting a curse as Cenric pushed himself harder, willing his body faster, faster, faster.

Screw the Rite, if leshka were back in the area . . . something was incredibly, incredibly wrong.

He needed his magic back, would have been able to at least keep it at bay if he'd been equipped with more than just a useless wooden dagger.

Not that it would have done him any good, leshka were nearly impossible to kill, the methods of doing so lost long ago with the stories that had given way to their legend.

Your only chances of survival were to get out of its territory, but even then, those in the tales who had faced them . . . none had survived a close encounter.

To see a leshka meant certain death.

Nearing the end of the path, Cenric threw a hand out and dragged Valka out of the copse with him, directing her toward the rocky base of Ramiel several hundred meters ahead. He snarled at her to move as he shoved her ahead of him.

She surged forward, her short legs swallowing up the distance with remarkable speed. Not enough, however, Cenric realized as he heard the leshka tear around the corner behind them, crashing into trees, that grotesque head screaming.

It would catch up to them soon, they had only minutes.

Scrambling, he dug through his memory, looking for any solution.

Leshka were bound to the territory that they selected, unable to venture outside of the edges they marked with the remains of their victims.

He looked toward the rocky base of the sacred mountain, spiraling dizzyingly upwards into the clouds above.

If they could get up the rocks . . .

Maybe they could out-climb it.

It was the only shot they had. Reaching the base of the mountain Cenric gave Valka no chance to speak before he picked up her and practically threw up the small cliff before them, his shoulder roaring in agony. She landed with a thud before rolling, gripping the surface for purchase.

Backing up a few feet, Cenric ignored the crippling pain as took a sprinting start and practically ran up the cliff face, reaching up and pulling himself upwards, digging his toes into the stone.

Valka had made it an overhang and had turned to look back, her face wan as she looked behind them, no doubt seeing the creature close on their heels.

"Keep climbing!" He barked at her, breaking her trance. As though realizing her own hesitation she reached down a hand and pulled him over the edge, cursing his weight as she hauled him towards her. Reaching for the next rock, Cenric heard a high-pitched wail and a thud, like a body rolling.

Turning, he saw the horrific creature sprawled on its side screaming as though some force had knocked it askew from the side. He watched as it tried to right itself, its attention diverting to its interceptor.

Standing before it with his wings spread wide was Azriel, Truth-Teller heavy in his hand one hand and an Illyrian blade in the other, Siphons gleaming as he took a defensive position against the creature. Shadows swirled around him as he took a step to the right, circling around the monster, taking its attention away from the mountain and toward the valley instead.

Away from them.

Cenric's breath caught in his throat.

As though sensing his attention Azriel snapped his gaze up to him before pointing toward the top of Ramiel.

An order.

A cold sweat broke out across Cenric as he watched the creature right itself and lower its twisted horns at Azriel, ready to charge as it fixed its milky eyes on him.

He'd asked Azriel to be here, to follow. He'd put him in this situation.

Where was his mother?

He should go down there and help, he couldn't leave Azriel alone against the creature—

"We have to move," Valka panted, digging her hand into his good shoulder, "the shadowsinger is only going to be able to buy us so much time."

He turned back to Valka, his eyes hard.

"He can winnow once we're out of the way, Cenric," She pointed at the shadowsinger, who was now racing away from the creature, leading it back toward its den. "He just saved our asses," she hissed, "you really think I'm going to say shit about it?! Climb!" She shoved him upward, at the narrow path up the mountain.

Snarling, Cenric turned from the shadowsinger and the beast he battled, gripping the stone as he began the steep ascent, his shoulder barking in protest.


	40. The Rite: End

**_Author's Note: Ahhh this has taken me so long to finish but it's done! I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you as always for all of the feedback, its so appreciated and gives me motivation to keep going! You guys are all seriously the best!_**

 ** _Also Cenric's portrait is available here if you're interested :) storyteller4271/art/Cenric-811869998_**

I had lost sight of Cenric and Valka as they raced up the mountain, their forms fading into distant black pinpricks. Turning abruptly, I plummeted for the copse of trees Azriel had disappeared into minutes before, the inhuman screech of rage following him still echoing off the cliffs.

I'd been scouting ahead when I'd heard my son's frantic shout and dove sharply, in time to see him shove Valka toward the rocky base of Ramiel as a grotesque form of boney skin and claws emerged from the shadowy trees behind them.

I'd had no time to intervene before Azriel had materialized from seemingly nowhere and slammed his power into the creature, the blue energy of his siphons sending it tumbling.

To my horror, it'd risen with ease.

Upon catching a glimpse of its face I'd had to suppress the bile that surged in my throat, watching as the hideous human head swung about and smiled toothlessly at Azriel before charging him.

Terror ripped through me like a blade.

I had to help—but being so close to Ramiel, I'd be easy to spot—

I followed swiftly after as Azriel raced for the dark patch of forest that Cenric and Valka had sprinted from, slipping easily into the covering shadows.

No one would see me here.

Hovering just above the ground I immediately shifted and landed softly in a crouch, my bow slung low across my shoulders, a quiver full at my hip. The glen was too still, a stomach-turning silence saturating the air.

Steadying my breathing through my mouth, I shot off soundlessly into the gloom, willing Azriel and the beast's tracks to appear.

What had that . . . thing . . . even been? One of the innumerable creatures that roamed the Steppes- one among the many I had narrowly avoided firsthand so many years ago? The shudder that raced across my shoulders told me that wasn't the case.

I slowed my stride, now creeping carefully deeper down the path, confused at the complete absence of tracks. It was as though someone had dusted the soft earthen floor with a broom. And the silence . . . from this distance, I should have heard sounds of battle, the horrendous cry the monster as it battled against Illyrian steel...

Anxiety pulled at me as I thought of my brother, somewhere within this copse of trees facing that creature. I willed the guilt from our last conversation away.

A sickeningly sweet smell suddenly assaulted my nose like a wall, putrid and something akin to a mixture of sugar and decay. Likely a marking the monster used to designate its territory.

I tightened my grip around my Illyrian blade, watching the shadows for any glimmer of movement. None came.

Running my hands across the smooth white trunks of the aspens, I struggled to find the source of that smell, for any marker that would show where it had vanished to. But the scent was everywhere, with no source that I could pinpoint.

I slowed my pace even more, willing my eyes to peer deeper into the darkness, to reveal anything: a flash of shifting skin, a rustle of antlers-

"Momma?"

The voice filtered through the shadows, no more than a whisper, but still sweet and lithe, like a cascade of tinkering bells. Exactly the same as it had once been, only deepened and roughened with age. Without thinking, I whirled toward it and stopped.

My heart spluttered. For in the shadows of the trees stood a pale, slim figure swathed in a torn white gown, tresses of inky night cascading down her slim shoulders. Her eyes glimmered like night skies filled with burning silver stars.

She stood tall now, her childish features having given way to a womanly figure and a long face, my face, but I would have known her in an instant.

Celeste.

I could not stop the choked sob that escaped me, the grip on my bow faltering as the world around me fell away.

Impossible.

"Is . . . is it really you?" Her voice was hushed, her eyes glancing to and fro as she tentatively approached me, shoulders shaking as tears leaked down her alabaster skin. "Please, tell me it's really you."

"Celeste." Her name passed through my lips in no more than a breath as I reached a tentative hand toward her as some dam within myself broke. I took a step forward, but something jolted through me, preventing me from reaching her, a subtle tug of wrongness.

I shook it away, willing to cease.

It pulled harder.

Instinctively, I tightened my grip on my bow.

She stopped suddenly, something like fear filling her eyes as she tentatively stepped away from me. My heart tore down its seams, begging, pleading for what stood before me to be real, demanding to know why I dared raise a weapon against my missing child.

Alive, she was alive-

She wiped futilely at her eyes, her frame shivering under her ragged dress in the frozen breeze. "They took me," a shudder raced over her too-white skin, her too-slim waist, "the Illyrians, they've kept me hidden all these years."

It was like a stone through ice, a crushing sensation that made my knees buckle. It was entirely possible, a sleight of hand used to put us off and if she'd ran . . . why hadn't we looked harder? Why had we believed them when they claimed her death?

I'd slaughter them all.

Another wave of that sickeningly sweet smell suddenly permeated my senses again, setting my head swimming, dragging me away from the revelation that lay before me. She'd inched closer again, her full, cupid's bow lips, her fathers, falling into that familiar pout, trembling with sorrow.

"Momma, please," her hand slipped around my wrist, amethyst eyes boring into my soul, "I want to go home," a choked sob, a plea, "take me home."

The smell was suffocating, hazing my mind.

Celeste.

"I miss you, please don't let them hurt me—"

 _Thud._

It happened so quickly it took me a moment to realize what had happened, to see the razor-sharp bit of steel protruding from her chest, the shaft of the arrow planted firmly in her back, right between where her wings once sat.

 _No._

Her face froze in terror as a bloodcurdling scream tore through her lips, her grip on my wrist impossibly tight as dark blood slid from her mouth.

My heart of ice shattered into a million, fractured pieces.

 _NO._

 _Thud. Thud. Thud._

Azriel appeared from the shadows of the wood, his face hard as he let arrow after arrow fly, driving deeper into her exposed back.

I felt the reverberation in her hand clenched around my wrist as the arrows continued to pepper her, filling her body with holes as she looked up at me pleadingly, her blood drenching me.

The source of that sweet smell.

I barely had time to wrench my hand away before the illusion flickered, Celeste's soft, tearstained face morphing briefly into that of a monster, her sobs becoming a piercing, unearthly wail echoing through the dark copse. I didn't register the tears that streamed down my face as I staggered back, subconsciously nocking an arrow and pulling back, aiming from the creature's heaving chest.

Celeste's face appeared again, pained this time.

She was never coming home.

I pulled the bow taut.

"Please," it begged in her beautiful voice, warped and screeching now, "don't do this to me, please—"

 _I'm sorry._

Distantly, as though I were watching myself from far away, I saw the arrow fly, watched as it sank into pale flesh with a sickening crunch. Azriel was upon the creature before it hit the ground, his Illyrian blade driving deep through its neck and sending Celeste's head tumbling off into the snow.

I stood frozen as the head rolled thrice before slowing, the flickering of Celeste's face finally fading as it came to a stop against a tree trunk.

I didn't know when the sobbing began, or when the bow tumbled from my fingertips before me as I sank onto my knees on the cold earth, her pleading, dying, beautiful face brilliant and harsh in my mind.

No, the only thing I registered was the form that slumped down next to mine, broad shoulders brushing my own, wings draped in the dirt as my brother stared emptily towards that fallen creature before us, the steam from its blood rising in small clouds, his gloved hands barely twitching.

* * *

Cenric pushed himself up another ledge and felt his shoulder nearly give out beneath him. Cursing, he dug his fingers in tighter, like hell he'd lose here.

"Come on, pretty boy!" Valka growled from above him, loose tendrils of hair escaping from her dark braid and whipping around her face in the harsh mountain wind as she looked down at him, her black leathers stark against the grey stone, oddly devoid of snow compared to the surrounding valleys. "We've less than a hundred feet to the top."

 _Easy for you to say_ , Cenric groused internally as he shoved a foot deep into a crack in the stone and forced himself upward, his eyes scanning the "path," little more than a slightly less steep rock face marked with the occasional cairn. _At least the view's not bad._

A tendril of surprise filtered through him at the thought and he immediately directed his attention elsewhere, damning the flush that undoubtedly covered his cheeks.

Maybe he could pass it off as a fever flush, although he doubted he'd need to. The female was already yards ahead of him again.

Embarrassment filled him; he was acting worse than his father. The feeling was short lived as another sharp stab of pain tore through his shoulder nearly sending him tumbling to his knees as he jerked, bits of gravel skittering down the mountainside.

He'd torn his stitches. All of them, if the blood seeping through his leather was any indication.

Fifty feet to go.

He watched as Valka pulled herself up the last overhang, her petite form disappearing behind the jagged rock.

Twenty feet to go. He could feel the sweat beading on his neck, the pounding of his heart as it battled feebly against the tenacious claws of bloodbane remaining in his system. It seemed the healing magic in that mouthful of his mother's blood had run out. He closed his eyes and willed his heart to steady. Soon it would be over and the potion would be purged from his system.

Two feet.

Digging his frozen fingers into the cliff's edge he pulled himself upright and felt his stomach drop as his shoulder gave out entirely, sending him tilting dangerously backwards. Small, strong hands immediately clamped down around his wrist, pinning him to the cliffside before dragging him over the edge.

"Got you."

With strength surprising for her size, Valka heaved him easily onto solid ground, pulling him away from the perilous drop before him.

"Thanks," he muttered breathlessly, lying flat against the frozen stone.

"Look at you," she hummed somewhat more gently than usual, her mouth quirking in amusement, "using manners and everything."

Another blush crept up his cheeks. No doubt the exhaustion was getting to him. At least he'd made it.

Valka straightened and looked out, her eyes softening as she took in the view.

"We did it."

Cenric grunted his agreement, suddenly content to spend the rest of his days laying on that rock. Valka waited several moments before growing impatient and reaching down toward him.

"Come on, you need to see this." He took her hand with his non-injured arm and allowed her to drag him upright, directing his attention to the setting sun in the distance. "Look."

A quiet awe filled him as he looked out over the snow-covered valleys. The low sun filtered through hazy clouds, casting the sky into bleeding pinks and violets that in turn reflected off the snow beneath them. Violets nearly the color of her eyes.

The same color as the flowers that had adorned the posts of her bed, the large blooms with their curling vines.

A decision formed in his mind.

"Valka."

She'd already begun making her way towards the black stone in the center of the clearing before them but stopped as he spoke, tilting her head as she listened.

"I want lilies." She flicked her brow in a way that told him she was about to bite back with something sarcastic before he finished, "Lilies in the Illyrian tattoos I'm going to get for finishing this Mother-forsaken thing."

Much to Cenric's surprise, Valka threw her head back and let out a sharp laugh before looking at him and nodding.

"I think they'd suit you," she nodded over a shoulder, "now come on, let's finish."

He gave one final glance back towards the sunset, allowing the kiss of the sun's dying rays to soothe him before trotting after Valka, preparing himself for the fallout that was about to follow. Somewhere deep inside he could've sworn he felt a flicker of pride, a fleeting sense of approval.

He felt a small smile creep over his lips. She'd never truly left him.

* * *

"Now, how do we work this stupid piece of shit?" Valka growled as she surveyed the black rock before them, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "Sing some song and dance? Shout our prayers of sins and fornication to the great Mother and pray she blesses us with escape?"

Cenric cut her a look, clutching unconsciously at his mangled, useless arm. She ignored him, the same way she was ignoring the shakiness that had rooted itself in her since encountering the leshka.

Seeing him had awoken something in her, sent her into a sense of need, of unease. Peering beneath her lashes she glanced back at Cenric, curious just what the creature had shown him.

"How did you know?"

"Know what?"

She tried to keep her fingers from nervously flitting, betraying her unease with the vision, and with the strange black stone before them.

"That the leshka wasn't real?" Because she had definitely fallen for it, annoyance saturating her as she thought on her own stupidity.

The aura of ease that had seemed to slip over the little lord suddenly disappeared, his cobalt eyes shuttering.

"Because the person it showed me is dead."

An awkward silence followed, causing Valka to direct her attention elsewhere. That explained the lilies and his whole holy crusade.

Cenric gave a small cough and attempted a smile. "And, you know, the hanging bodies were a good clue too."

She snorted and rolled her eyes, grateful at least for his attempt at alleviating the situation. The male offered her another small smile. "I wouldn't have expected someone like you to fall for it."

Valka grimaced, her annoyance and shame returning. "I shouldn't have. It was . . . stupid. I don't know why I thought . . ." She trailed off, the silence returning.

"So, about this terrifying, weird-ass rock." She didn't look at him, instead flicking her fingers towards the stone. "How does it work?"

"You just touch it," he said flatly, seemingly content to drop the subject as he reached for the stone with his good hand. "It should do the rest."

"Oh, fabulous," she muttered, tentatively reaching her hands forward, her stomach churning uneasily with the strange power pulsating from the stone, sweat somehow beading on her skin even in the plummeted temperatures. "I've always wanted to be turned into shadows and thrown through the world."

"It's not so bad."

"Says the male born with shadows coming out of his ass."

"Are you going to touch the stone or not?"

Valka smirked at his annoyance, ignoring the unease that had filled her, the unidentifiable whispers filling the back of her mind. "Let's go."

Nothing had gone according to plan with the Rite, she was no closer to accomplishing what she had set out to do, and seeing Silbah . . .

She didn't have time to dwell on her mistakes.

She could kick her own ass for her stupidity later as she drowned herself in several pints of mulled cider and contemplated just how foolish she must have looked running toward that leshka.

That was if others didn't hand down punishment for her upon her return.

She tried not to dwell on it.

Pressing her palms against the stone, that vague feeling of wrongness consumed her in a wave before she felt the world around her bend and fade away with a twist, everything a vast, shadowy blur.

She nearly vomited at the sensation.

To hell with winnowing if it's anything like this, she thought sourly, no power or potential surprise in battle was worth feeling like your stomach was coming out of your throat. Just as soon as the feeling began, it stopped as the Windhaven camp materialized before her.

Relief crept in at the thought of at least being able to sleep in her own bed before she realized that something was wrong. Thick smoke assaulted her nose, the ground beneath her feet was slick with blood and that sound—

The din of fighting.

Blades clashed against blades as the world erupted into chaos around her. Vaguely, she registered the presence of the High Lord sending out waves of the killing power as Nesta picked off warriors before her, the General's orders ringing out loudly around them as he cut males down.

Warriors dressed in Illyrian leathers.

What _the hell_ had happened?

"Look!" A voice cried, snapping Valka's attention, "The half-breed's whelp has returned!"

A heartbeat, that was all the time she had to react.

Without thought, Valka saw the glint of the arrows and moved, her instincts driving her. She heard the twang of those deadly bows, designed to kill, before she felt the piercing ash driven through her, tearing the breath from her.

 _Stupid boy_ , she thought as her vision danced and the world fell away beneath her, _Of course this is how I'd die._

 _I didn't even finish what I set out to do._

* * *

Cenric had been so absorbed by the chaos around him when he'd landed that he hadn't even sensed the arrow flying for him before Valka pushed him aside and took the shots for him. He watched in horror as the arrows tore through her, blood spraying.

Another person he couldn't protect.

He heard the grunt as she hit her knees, hissing in pain as she turned her attention towards their assailants. "Bastards, you're all nothing but fucking—"

Something in Cenric cracked.

A pulse and a surge resounded as his power ripped through the dwindling suppression of the potion, rendering it useless as his magic flooded him once more.

 _Enough._

His shoulder sang in relief as his immortal healing returned, pushing the bloodbane away and working the ash splinters free from his shoulder.

 _Enough._

With a mere half a thought, all the remaining warriors were nothing but ash on the wind.

As the traitors disintegrated into fine particulates that swirled in the air before him, the warriors fighting on their side had the sense to look uneasy as he let his power flow freely, turning the enemy to nothing but mist.

His mind did not venture to them though as he dropped beside Valka, pressing his hand hard against the wounds in her stomach, in her chest. Panic seized him as blood pooled over his fingers and he caught her eyes, willing her to survive.

Valka looked up at him with that clear silver gaze, blood bubbling behind her lips as she clawed at his hand, grappling with his wrists. "Cenric please—"

"No," he snarled, ignoring the prick of tears that flooded his vision, "No."

"My mother," Valka gasped, her body shuddering beneath him as her life flowed into the mud. "Cenric, my mother—"

"You'll see her again," he tried to reassure her, even though he felt his own promises were cobwebs. "Just stay here, stay with me—"

Something like agitation flitted across her face and she opened her mouth as though to speak but only spluttered and gasped as another dark droplet raced from the corner of her mouth.

They'd hit an artery no doubt; organs too.

Cenric barely registered his father appearing next to him, sheathing a blade, the curse from Cassian's lips as he saw the damage done to Valka.

He only registered the pressure of another set of hands, slim and feminine, as Nesta pushed her palms down onto Valka's wounds as well.

"Get the healer now!" Her voice was like ice, but Cenric did not miss the slight waver there, the hint of dread that had slipped in.

No one else would die for this folly.

* * *

Cassian had expected a lot of things to come from this Rite, but the ringleader of the rebellion stepping forward freely? The Ironwood clan leader admitting his guilt and challenging Rhys outright as Rhys confronted him about the cheating Ironwood warriors who'd sought out his son?

A full confession with no prompting.

He shook his head.

It hadn't been on his list of things he'd been planning to deal with on the final day of the Rite. And his brother, freshly endowed with the information about the ash arrows and bloodbane, had been more than happy to deal with the fool and his so-called challenge. They'd slaughtered every last one.

Or rather, they'd been working on it before Cenric had appeared and finished the job for them.

Two hundred warriors and three clans wiped out just like that. Cassian felt ill at the thought of it, though not nearly as ill as he thought on the memory of Nesta's lieutenant going down as she took the fatal blow for Cenric, four ash arrows embedding themselves in her as she slammed his nephew out of the way.

The sound of his mate's cry as she'd watched Valka collapse still echoed through his mind.

Nesta did not show emotion easily and the fact that'd she'd lost it over her young Lieutenant . . .

Cassian watched her now as she sat by the female's bed, monitoring everything the healers did, her lips tightening in disapproval as they pulled bowls of bloodied water away from the cot. Valka had not stirred since she'd slipped into unconsciousness.

It'd be a miracle if she survived the night.

Valka's mother, the old Ironwood widow, stood in a silent vigil in the corner as she watched the healers work, her green eyes misty as she dabbed at them. Nesta hadn't let her any closer to Valka, standing as a solid wall of adamant between them.

Cenric sat across from them both, bloodied, his shoulder forced into a sling before he'd been allowed to attend to the female who lay before him. She saved my life, he'd said, shaking with fury, Numerous times. We can't let her die.

He could see the fear in his nephew's face, the cold that had set over his features as he watched the healers work fruitlessly over the fading female.

He knew that cold didn't come from just the female, but with the news that had been passed down from the clan leaders. It had been decided that given the degree of outside intervention on all sides, the Rite was declared null. None of the eighty who had survived would be forced to retake it, but none would ever be given the full honor and glory appointed to those who had truly passed the Rite.

It had been a lot for the boy.

Cassian heard the brush of canvas and caught the familiar scent of his High Lady as Feyre bolted into the tent, hollow eyes surveying the room, looking for her son. Upon seeing Cenric the tension eased from her body until she saw Valka laid out before him. Feyre's eyes widened before she bolted over, dropping her bow to the floor and immediately falling into a crouch beside the female.

Relief flooded Cassian as he watched her speak quickly with the healer before pulling a knife from her belt and slicing it across her wrist, allowing drops of her Dawn-gifted blood to fall into the fallen warrior's ashy lips.

With the healing gift, there was a shot she'd make it.

Cassian turned to leave and found Azriel standing in the shadows of the tent, his eyes dark as he watched the scene before him. He knew better than to say anything, Rhys had recounted the events from Feyre to him after they'd regained control of the camp.

Of what Feyre and Azriel had seen while facing a creature that had supposedly been exterminated centuries ago, of whom exactly they'd had to cut down to destroy it.

Anger, hot and searing tore through him.

He needed to do something, anything, that didn't leave him here standing idly. Pushing past his brother, he briefly clapped him on the shoulder before venturing out into the cold, silent night.


	41. The Crossroads

The soft spring breeze sent wisps of the fresh scent of grass and apple blossoms brushing against Celeste's sun-warmed cheek as she strolled down the wooded path, tugging the "borrowed" brown gelding, whom Gandriel had affectionately dubbed Beau, behind her. She had only rolled her eyes as the male insisted that the horse would still be returned during their next visit to Rainfelle, but "needed a name in the meantime."

Celeste was almost certain they'd be keeping the horse.

They were on the road headed back to Marchedor, having finally returned to Portmouth a few days prior and attended to various errands. As they'd pulled into port Celeste had sheepishly realized she was now in possession of an easily recognized and quite obviously stolen ship.

After a brief moment of panic she'd slipped from the deck frantically looking for Fallon and half expecting to be whisked away in chains by the harbormaster. After finding said Captain she'd been greeted with amusement as she had nervously murmured her concerns.

The busty sea Captain had merely laughed ensuring that she "knew a man" and "not to worry her pretty little head" as she'd sauntered off across the docks, her hips swinging knowingly.

Much to Celeste's surprise Fallon's words held true and not a word had been said. And miraculously, late that same evening, the Loreley's paperwork mysterious materialized with Celeste listed as the new and rightful owner.

It now sat safely docked, manned by the sailors who had decided to stay under her command, awaiting her return.

The others freed had parted their own separate ways, all with pocketfuls of coin from Celeste and Fallon, to begin their lives anew in Portmouth and the surrounding communities. Marrien and James' farewell hugs had been tight and even Layla had whispered her thanks again before sweeping Celeste into an embrace she hadn't expected. Pennelope and her husband had decided to settle in in the port city and had told Celeste and Anelisse that they had best not become strangers.

Celeste adjusted the pack slung across her back and eyed the jingling saddlebags hanging heavily on Beau's sides. Before departing Portmouth they had thoroughly investigated their newly acquired ship, snooping about as they piled all of Rufus's useless and gaudy finery. They'd auctioned it all for a weighted bag of gold pieces.

After much thought, Celeste had decided to keep the oversized bedframe in her cabin, even as she'd immediately pawned the hideous golden silk sheets and throw pillows. She's refused to sell the trunk of old dresses, however, finding it better to burn them instead.

After their haggling and trading Fallon had cheerfully sent them on their way, promising to send a letter detailing meetings with her informants to begin laying out their counterattack against the slavers. Rufus's papers had contained a wealth of information, names and contacts the sea Captain had been eager to start hunting down.

In three weeks' time they were to head back to the coast to rendezvous with Fallon and begin their assault. The thought of facing Dermot sent a thrill through Celeste, an opportunity to repay the bastard for the blows he'd given her.

Though the only opportunity of assault she wanted in that moment was to hit Gandriel.

Celeste groaned as she tried and failed to block out the tune wafting from the male trotting behind her.

She barely registered the smarmy tavern lyrics about a buxom, blessed blonde with teal eyes and pointy toes said male was singing about in that rolling accent of his, picking absently at a lute he'd plucked from one of the many cabins on the Loreley.

He'd make himself quite cozy on her new ship, claiming his space and proudly strutting about with his new title of first mate. He was also giving her a Mother's damned headache.

And she'd just barely recovered from the last one. She tried not to dwell on the throbbing pain that had bedridden her for two days.

It had taken a week for the headache that Celeste had acquired after her little fainting spell to fade. She hadn't remembered much of her conversation with Anelisse and it left her feeling like she stood on unstable ground.

She'd recalled talking about Anidre and her identity then . . . nothing.

She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers and squeezed her eyes shut, willing some recollection of those moments to return to her.

Nothing.

It was useless.

Perhaps fairy wine wasn't for her, perhaps it had been what had muddled her memory so terribly. It certainly hadn't been for Anelisse. She'd been puking non-stop and feverish for the week following Fallon's little party, going so far as to have been bedridden right alongside Celeste, hurling her guts up and cursing everything good and holy in the world.

Even now she heard the small gagging noise as Anelisse dry heaved behind her, perched lightly on Beau's back. Glancing over her shoulder she saw her sister press her palm against her mouth, her porcelain skin wan and pink lips thin.

Celeste couldn't say she felt particularly sorry for her.

Maybe she'd think twice about guzzling two bottles of unlabeled spirits next time.

"Hungry?" Celeste inquired, quirking her brows playfully as she shook the satchel full of apples strung across her back.

Anelisse scowled, scrunching her nose up in revulsion.

"You're foul."

Celeste smirked. She heard Gandriel's merry little song stop briefly as he covered up a laugh, directing his attention to something very interesting in the wood.

Celeste gave a small shrug. "You're the only one to blame."

Anelisse threw her a rather impolite gesture, along with a wadded-up ball of paper she'd been sketching on. Celeste easy dodged the projectile and watched it roll harmlessly to a stop by Gandriel's feet.

She chuckled.

"You should eat," Gandriel piped up, strumming some ungodly, untuned melody on his lute before reaching down to pick up the discarded sketch. "You were skin and bone to begin and now, well . . ." He straightened and plucked at his lute again, a few high, screeching notes. "You're only bone? No, only skin?"

"She'd make a lovely rug."

Anelisse immediately gagged, wavering dangerously in her seat. Celeste and Gandriel both reached for her only to be waved off by frantic, annoyed hands.

"No talk of skin, or bones," she hissed, turning a particularly sickly shade of green, "or sweets or apples for that matter." She gave pointed look at Celeste. "Mother above, when will this hangover end?"

"When your mortal body decides it will," Celeste took pity on her and began rummaging through her bag looking for the little package of peppermint leaves Vaerek had slipped her upon their departure. "Do you want some tea? It's helped before."

Anelisse shook her head, blowing stray strands of silvery hair out of her face.

"I just want to get to Marchedor so I can have a bath and a real bed."

Celeste clicked her tongue playfully, casting her sister a chiding look. "From rags to riches in a week and you've already spoiled yourself on the luxuries of life. Do you require anything else, my lady?"

"Yes, a hat made from the finest mink furs, a well-sculpted male to comfort my weary, aching bones," Celeste could have sworn Anelisse flicked her attention briefly toward Gandriel, "and a tub full of the frilliest oils you can find." She clapped her hands, grinning at her sister. "Well, hop to it, I'm not getting any younger!"

"Of course," Celeste dipped her head in a mocking curtsey and even Beau snorted. "Right away, my lady."

"And you," Anelisse turned to Gandriel, straightening her spine, "I require a jester. I want a song telling all the land about how beautiful I am and how they should gift me with all sorts of finery."

Gandriel threw back his head and howled in amusement before dropping into an ornate bow, his arms poised just so. "Of course, my lady! I'll begin composing the ballad immediately. Shall I describe your eyes as clouds of murky mud water or your chest as flat as the central plains?"

"Describe the way your head's going to roll when I cut it from your body," Anelisse replied sweetly, fanning herself with a hand, "I'd threaten other parts but I fear there's not enough there to compose a ballad about."

Celeste coughed, trying to hide her laughter behind her hand and failing miserably. Gandriel looked wounded, pressing his hand to his chest as he dramatically staggered away from Anelisse before dropping into the dirt.

"You've injured me gravely, madam, and now I fear you shall have to replace your jester," he flopped a hand to his brow and rolled over, "for here is where I meet my end."

"Thank the Mother," Celeste muttered to the sky, stopping to pull an apple from her bag for herself, "I thought we'd never be free of you."

"You don't mean that," Gandriel replied, abruptly coming back to life and dusting the dirt from his pants. "You wouldn't have made me your first mate if that were the case."

Celeste shrugged again. "I need someone to use as bait." She bit into the flesh of the apple, savoring the crisp honey flavor. "I care about my sister. You, on the other hand, are disposable." Gandriel sent her a scowl before trotting ahead, his cream shirt dusty as he absently picked at his lute.

Fine, maybe she'd gained some type of attachment to the attention-seeking fool.

It didn't stop her from throwing her apple core at him once she'd finished the fruit though, the sound of outrage that escaped him echoing loudly through the wood.

For all that Celeste had faced she had never expected to feel quite so . . . whole again. Like the world was a place she'd like to be and that a purpose lay before her. Her own ship, her own crew . . . she shook her head. Best for one to not look a gift horse in the mouth. She couldn't help the smirk at she glanced over at Beau. Or a "borrowed" one, for that matter.

Gandriel plucked at the strings again, and Celeste finally snarled at him. "Would you stop? I never thought anything would give me more of a headache than your voice, but apparently I was wrong."

He sighed, looking rather sad. "It's not my fault it's nothing like a guitar."

Anelisse piped up from behind them. "What's a guitar?" Gandriel turned and gaped at her.

"You've never seen-?" He grinned. "Then I'll be sure to serenade you the moment we return home." Celeste groaned and strode quickly forward, eager to escape the banter that followed.

They traveled for several hours in comfortable silence, interrupted only by the slowly improving plunking of Gandriel's lute and his rich rolling tenor. Even Anelisse's nauseous moaning had silenced.

The sun was dipping to the horizon as they reached the far outskirts of Marchedor and a few sparse lampposts flickered to life in the blue twilight. Ahead, two roads crossed beneath a large oak, its thick branches rustling with a sudden breeze. Celeste crooked an eyebrow as the wind carried the lulling song of a woman softly toward them, the mournful tune echoing across the valley.

 _Strange_ , she pondered, they'd only met a handful of travelers on the road inland and none of them had appeared to be traveling bards, mostly merchants and pilgrims. She wondered briefly if they'd come across a band of gypsies making camp for the night, as Fallon had mentioned several that roamed these parts.

Maybe they could trade some supplies for a performance. She knew Anelisse had never had the opportunity to experience such a show and she was tired enough that she wouldn't have minded simply making camp early and finishing their journey the next morning. She also knew she'd enjoy listening to something other than Gandriel's bawdy tavern tunes.

Tugging Beau, she made her way down toward the crossroads when the woman suddenly materialized in the evening shadows beneath the tree, draped in gown of shadows, its skirt fluttering in the breeze like a wraith, her lovely voice singing in a language that tugged at the corners of Celeste's mind.

Beautiful, full of sorrow, and somehow . . . ancient.

Beau stopped suddenly, throwing up his head and tugging against Celeste as a whisper of cold danced up her spine. She heard Anelisse shift behind her, no doubt peering at the strange woman before them, if she was even a woman—

No, she was definitely corporeal Celeste noted, watching the woman's dark hand pull the veil closer over her face as she swayed, the winds seeming to stop as her voice rose to a keening, beautiful wail.

 _Actors,_ she thought sourly, _always so keen on the dramatics_.

Turning to the side, she saw that Gandriel had frozen mid-stride, his golden skin suddenly the color of spoilt milk and eyes as wide as saucers as he took the woman in.

Celeste opened her mouth to inquire when the song suddenly stopped, and the figure snapped her attention to Gandriel. The woman cocked her head before strolling leisurely toward them, nearly floating across the ground.

"Gandriel," the woman's voice was lovely and low, a seductive purr that hung in the air, "My dear Gandriel-"  
Was this one of his lady friends? Celeste honestly wouldn't put it past him to date a woman with such a flair for the dramatic-

"We have to go now," Gandriel hissed, roughly grabbing Celeste's shoulder and Beau's rein, his hands shaking. " _Right_ now."

"Wait a minute, aren't you going to explain—"

Everything went black as Gandriel stepped through space, shadows blurring shapes around them. Celeste felt the world reel back into place as she abruptly landed in Gandriel's living room, left exactly as it had been when she'd left to find Anelisse. Beau gave a bewildered snort, his ears flicking, as Celeste heard her sister moan and gag again behind her.

"Gandriel, are you serious?" Celeste griped, crossing her arms over her chest as she turned to the panting male, his hand still on Beau's rein. Anelisse blinked in the shadows, trying to get her bearings as she still sat perched on the gelding's back, her head grazing the ceiling. "You winnowed the damn horse into the house. What the hell was that all about?"

"Yes, Gandriel," Celeste froze, the woman's voice seductive voice from earlier sounding close behind her. Beau gave a nervous whinny and backed up, causing Anelisse to nearly lose her balance. "An explanation would be greatly appreciated."

A candle suddenly flared to life before them, illuminating the dark evening shadows obscuring the room. Celeste gaped at the singing woman from earlier now lounged across Gandriel's couch, her black gown splayed around her and scarf pulled across her shoulders. Smooth honeyed olive skin peeked beneath her deep neckline and long black ringlets tumbling loosely over her ample chest, looking for all the world as though she had not been beneath a tree miles away moments before.

Unnaturally beautiful.

Utterly devastating.

And, Celeste noted as her hair shifted, revealing rounded ears, absolutely not fae.

A tentative sniff: human, but . . . altered.

Some lady friend.

The woman lifted a piece of paper in her hands, waving it to and fro with elegant fingers as she locked her night-black stare on Gandriel. "Care to explain this, pet?" She deftly flicked the paper forward onto the floor revealing a less-than-polite note accompanied by what appeared to be a crudely drawn phallus.

Gandriel immediately dove behind Celeste, attempting to hide his bulk behind her smaller stature, using her as a barrier between him and the woman.

"What _are_ you doing—" Gandriel hissed and directed Celeste's attention back toward the woman, both of his hands planted firmly on her shoulders as he ducked low behind her. She heard Anelisse let out a sound of disbelief as she still sat perched in the saddle.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Warmth began to pool in Celeste's pocket. She placed a surreptitious hand over the heat, confused.

"Oh, oh no, our deal's over." The male peered over Celeste's shoulder, sending an accusing stare at the woman. He swallowed loudly by Celeste's ear. "The contract is fulfilled, our blood bond is broken. You don't own me anymore."

" _That's_ the woman you bargained with?" Celeste hissed, stomping down on Gandriel's foot.

The woman paused, examining them. Celeste felt her skin prickle beneath that gaze. The woman's full, blood-red lips peeled back in a horrifically perfect smile, teeth as white as pearls.

"Oh yes, I noticed the absence of that little tether a few weeks ago," She twisted her wrist, examining a smooth patch of skin where a mark must have once sat. "I came looking for release and found your little pen empty." She waved her hand toward the dark splotch that still remained on the floor where Gandriel's blood had soaked through the carpet. "And saw that'd you'd been gutted like a swine, yet somehow, here you stand."

"Well, that's your problem, isn't it?" Gandriel snarled from behind Celeste. There was a whisper of fabric as Anelisse slid from Beau's back, coming to join him on Celeste other side, peeking curiously over her right shoulder.

They were both entirely useless.

She watched as the woman crossed her hands regally in her lap. The warmth in her pocket grew.

"I am curious as to how you are still breathing, toy. So do me a favor and explain, I grow weary of your insolence."

Celeste felt a sudden tendril of power, depthless and icy, roll over her, assessing-her magic bit back, violently driving the waves away.

The woman laughed. "Interesting."

She rose, her tall, lean frame elegant. Gandriel flinched behind Celeste and ducked lower, his broad hand holding tightly to her shoulder—like he expected her to protect him. She sighed and squared her feet, her hand slipping subtly into her pocket as a soft voice whispered, humming to her.

"So that's how," the woman stalked a step closer peering curiously, her black eyes seeming to devour the candlelight rather than reflecting it. "A resurrectionist. It's been a millennia since I've seen such power, and never in such a pretty little package."

Celeste's eyebrows narrowed.

"What did you even bargain for?" Anelisse muttered, nudging Gandriel in the ribs beside her. "The size of your manhood? It certainly wasn't for more brain cells . . ." Gandriel, for once, gave no answer.

The woman replied instead.

"His mother's life." She looked at her perfectly manicured nails, colored the same deep blood red as her lips. "Dying of a rare wasting disease, nearly beyond all hope. He summoned me beneath the oak and bargained away what he cherished most to save her." A small, simpering smile. "His freedom."

She pointed a long, elegant finger at him.

"Lifelong servitude to me, in the bedroom and otherwise," an amused smile, "in exchange for his mother's prompt and fortuitous recovery."

Steel settled inside Celeste as she suddenly recalled Gandriel's stories about his mother, the way his eyes gleamed with warmth when he spoke of her. Suddenly his bargain didn't seem so heinous, even if he'd practically sold himself as a sex slave.

"And I don't regret it for a second," Gandriel snarled from behind Celeste, "but I fulfilled the terms of the bargain. 'Until death,' you said. So since the contract is complete, you can kindly crawl back into whatever hell you came from, Ithaca."

A lover's laugh.

"I did not know you detested our joinings so, you certainly didn't complain when I ensured your completion as well."

Celeste didn't need to turn around to see the heat that raced over his features, no doubt staining his cheeks a vibrant red.

Her sister snorted. "Oh, I definitely didn't need to picture that. Was he any good, at least?"

"Anelisse!" Gandriel was nearly squeaking.

"Well, I am curious."

"Enough," Celeste cut in, watching the woman who stood before her, "As he said, his bond to you is broken. Now, what do you want?"

Ithaca's face became nearly serpentine, that icy power beginning to bubble again and slink toward Gandriel like she'd snatch him away. Celeste broadened her stance.

"I don't like losing my belongings and I certainly don't like to share them," she stepped closer and Celeste took a tentative step forward, keeping her eyes on the woman. "So I came to claim what is mine."

"Gandriel's debt to you is paid and void. It's not my fault you left a loophole in your contract." Celeste took another step as she carefully slid the warmth out of her pocket, surprise flickering through her as she realized what it was. "So it would be in your best interest to leave now."

"Will you protect him, lovely? I am not surprised, a female will always protect her male no matter how unworthy. You will find they aren't worth your time."

"He's not my male, and he certainly is useless, I'll give you that." That strange tether inside of her gave a small tug as she wrapped her hand tightly around the smooth metal in her hand, an idea forming in her mind. "But he's not chattel to be sold to the highest bidder, even if he is less than prized breeding stud."

No sense in stroking the male's ego even if she was defending him.

"He is a pretty trinket that belongs on my shelf. Would you care to join him? Perhaps we could make a deal, you in exchange for him." Her black pupils seemed to swell, to beckon Celeste forward. "I'm certain there's something you desire . . ." The smell of icy wind suddenly swirled around her, a memory, half forgotten, of the elation of flight, of true freedom-

"Celeste, don't!"

She tuned out Gandriel's pleas as she circled around the woman, trying to pry her attention away from the male and her sister, even as the woman's energy drove her closer, causing her skin to prickle in ways that weren't unpleasant.

"You smell of starlight and shadow," Celeste kept her features cool even as saw Anelisse stiffen in the corner of her eye, taking one small step at a time towards Ithaca. The woman's features began to shift, her jaw becoming strong and angled, shoulders broadening, voice dipping to a gentle, low tenor. "What blood runs in those veins? You can warm my bed and I'll finally have a taste of the stars."

The metal charm in her hand was near scorching as she came within a few steps of the woman.

"I don't think that'll be necessary."

She opened her palm.

The charm that Celeste had yanked from the wight's neck in the tomb flew clean out of her hand and immediately snapped around the woman's neck. She reeled back, giving an unholy snarl as her features abruptly returned to normal.

She knew she'd taken it back from Gandriel from a reason.

"What have you done?" Ithaca hissed, clawing unsuccessfully at the small pendant with the crossed lines carved crudely into surface that now hung around her neck. "Where did you get this? Impossible, I'll kill you—"

Ithaca sent a tendril of darkness towards Celeste that had Anelisse and Gandriel both crying out before it bounced harmlessly away. The black pupils of Ithaca's eyes swelled before she lashed out again and again with her power and to no avail.

"I don't think so," Celeste replied coolly, even as her palms sweated with her nerves. She couldn't believe the luck Gandriel somehow survived on. "You can't touch me."

Another snarl. Definitely not human.

"And I don't think you'll touch him or my sister either."

A tie had begun to form in her chest when she'd touched the warmed necklace, like a chain that tied a beast to its master. She felt her essence bind to the woman before her. She tugged on it, willing the woman to kneel.

Ithaca hissed as her knees wobbled, her angled onyx eyes narrowing in anger. Celeste pulled hard on the chain, willing the woman to sit. A battle of wills.

With a snarl, Ithaca dropped to the floor, panting.

"Where in the Mother's name did you get that?"

Gandriel sounded out of breath as he approached Celeste, keeping a wary eye on the grounded Ithaca.

"From that little adventure you took me on before we came here." She sent him a pointed look. He failed to notice it.

"So the map _did_ work," he whispered, "There was a purpose to that infested hellhole." He gave a small chuckle, casting an amazed look at the woman on the floor, before he threw head back laughing. "Oh, this is fabulous. Do you see this, Ithaca? You can't touch me anymore!" He gave a belly laugh. "What can you make her do, Celeste? Can you make her dance-?"

"No, Gandriel." Exasperation filled her tone. All she had wanted was to come back to the apartment and get clean, perhaps have a cup of tea before bed. She turned her attention back to Ithaca, yanking on that chain. "And _you_ will stand down and harm none of us. Whatever else you do I frankly don't care."

She released her hold on the chain, allowing Ithaca to rise, even as the woman glared daggers at her.

"You will release me this instant, girl, or you will suffer."

"I really doubt it," Celeste sidestepped the woman, trying to show Gandriel that he was indeed safe before making her way to the kitchen, "Now kindly show yourself out so I can eat dinner in peace. And Gandriel," she looked at the male behind her, giving him a sweet smile, "Step out of line and I'll give you right back to her."


	42. Of Bread and Love Making

_**Author's Note: I realized today that I've been spelling Elain's name wrong this entire time and can't bring myself to change it TT_TT I'll fix it eventually I swear, but for the time being it's Elaine. I hope you guys like this Chapter as always!**_

 _(Feyre)_

I took a deep, calming breath before turning into the canvas tent erected in the center of the Windhaven camp, the place where my mate, my sister, my brothers, and I had hashed out the details of the Illyrian rebellion's bloody end.

A handful of remaining traitors had been rounded up the morning following the attack, all set to stand trial and face inevitable execution. The remaining loyal Illyrians . . . they'd been quiet, borderline peaceful.

For the first time since Silbah's claim for the Illyrian throne I'd seen children playing freely in the camp, running to and fro, squealing their delight as their mothers looked on with a new sort of peace in their eyes, their wings relaxed.

Some had even offered me tentative smiles, waving shyly as I strode through the array of tents.

I could only hope it meant this was truly coming to an end.

Cenric had not spoken to me since the Rite's end, having stayed at Valka's bedside as the female slowly but steadily recovered. Once she'd been declared stable and predicted to wake soon he'd disappeared, winnowing home to the Riverside Estate without so much as a word.

I needed to speak with him.

Pushing past the canvas I paused, my head swimming after days without sleep. I could feel the lightheadedness creeping in, threatening to send me into oblivion with a face full of mud. I felt I'd sleep for a week once I got home, or perhaps sink into a bath and never emerge again.

I had one thing I needed to do before that though.

Letting the canvas flap fall behind me I found Azriel exactly where I expected him to be, bent over a wooden table glancing through an array of papers. The reports that had miraculously materialized in the Ironwood leader's home, listing the names of all of the Illyrian females who'd lost their wings: sacrificed in the name of their King.

Giving their lives for his cause, willingly dying and facing the funeral pyre for his name.

The thought had left me nauseous, wheeling from the absurdity of it.

Azriel had been compiling the casualty reports, reading through each name to see which clans they'd hailed from. Last I had heard they appeared random, sporadically claimed from numerous clans, many of whose their families hadn't even realized their absence.

As though they'd simply vanished from their memories.

The thought had been unsettling, whether a reflection of the culture's disregard for females or just the general lack of compassion, I wasn't certain.

Stopping before the wooden table I lightly cleared my throat, nervously fiddling with the braid that hung over my shoulder.

He glanced up from the papers before rising, immediately dipping his head into a respectful nod, his face neutral.

The formal motion flooded me with guilt. Such things were used only when we needed to present a unified front or when things weren't . . . good.

I couldn't let this be.

"Azriel," I wrung my hands before me, nervous to meet his gaze, "about what happened in the mountains—" The thoughts swirled in my mind, a patchwork of guilt and sorrow stained with the ink of my careless words.

Before I could continue the shadowsinger interrupted me.

"I'm sorry, Feyre." The apology startled me. I forced myself to meet his eyes, molten cores that were shadowed in a way I had slowly learned meant pain. "For . . . all of it."

It was like a punch to the gut.

"You owe me no apology, Azriel," I scrubbed at my face, feeling childish for my actions. "The only apology owed is the one I came to give you. I was unjustified in my accusations." Irredeemably so. "I was just so terrified, certain that they'd kill him, that he couldn't protect himself."

And they'd nearly succeeded.

But I'd been wrong about Cenric, he'd grown powerful, more so than I'd even realized. But in my eyes . . . he remained a child. The same small, precious, screaming bundle Rhys had lowered into my arms after days and days of excruciating hell from bringing him into the world. That same bundle I'd sworn my very existence to protect.

"When I saw the ash arrows, the way he collapsed in that canyon . . ." I swallowed hard, shuddering at the memory.

I'd lost myself to that darkness, desperate and inconsolable.

There was a pause.

"They were dead men." Azriel's deep voice was low, his eyes downcast as he absently flexed his fingers.

Something inside me had already known that, had known that no matter what promises he had made Cenric he would have never let the past happen again. Rhys and I had never been alone in our grieving.

"I'm foul," I pressed my palms into my eyes, perhaps the Mother would strike me down for my foolishness, "I should have—no-I knew better."

And with the way he'd intercepted the creature . . .

A shiver danced through me as my skin prickled at the memory of the monster's haunted face as it screamed in her voice. I needed brandy, a tall glass.

"And Cel—the creature," I nearly choked on the word, reliving the memory of my arrow piercing its heart, "what was it? Where did it even come from? It was like the puka." The foul little monster that had nearly tricked my naïve nineteen-year-old self into following it from Tamlin's estate, almost becoming its dinner.

"Leshka, deeply rooted in Illyrian legend," Azriel craned his neck, stretching the muscles. "They're like the puka but," a small, barely visible tilt of his lips, "related in the way that a house cat might resemble a lion."

The thought made me shiver.

Azriel grew contemplative again, his gaze flickering around the tent, refusing to meet my own.

"They lure their victims by showing them those they desire most. It was rumored the only way to kill them is to strike when they are in another form . . ." His eyes flickered back to mine, guilt lingering in that stare. Another silent apology.

I shook my head.

If he'd been desperate enough to use me as bait as a tactic to kill such a creature . . . the need had greatly outweighed the risk.

"You did what you had to," her face flashed into my mind, the softness of her skin around my wrist as she'd pleaded with me, the touch familiar, "and I will never hesitate that way again."

My daughter was dead. She was never coming home. And my refusal to accept that fact had nearly cost myself and Azriel's lives . . . it couldn't and wouldn't happen again.

The shadowsinger nodded once, silence taking him.

He hadn't voiced it but I'd known that we'd both seen her, swaying feebly in that tattered, too-small dress, tears streaking down her face.

And he'd been forced to cut her image down to protect me. My stomach turned sour from the words I'd so carelessly thrown at him in the Steppes, even as the rift between us stitched closed.

We stood in contemplative quiet for a moment with only the howling winds outside for company.

"I need to find Cenric."

I needed to apologize to my son, explain my thought process to him, to try and make him understand why I had done what I did. To apologize for his failure of the Rite. Apparently, someone had caught sight of a white-tailed hawk circling above him through the last days and had reported it to the clan leaders and while not the greatest offense in the Rite . . . it certainly hadn't helped.

I desperately needed to patch that rift that had formed, before it became so wide that I could not salvage what I had broken.

"I should see Elaine as well."

I quirked a brow at him. Azriel shook his head.

"Too many things have been left unattended." I understood the unspoken words, the distance he'd put between himself and her since Celeste's death, since the rise and fall of the rebellions. The implication that grief could not rule us forever.

Something inside me lifted, a lightness flooding the void I'd felt since her death. No, she would never come home but she had never left, at least not in the ways that mattered.

I held out a hand to my brother, an offer of peace and understanding.

"Then let's go back together."

* * *

"Do you like it?" Anelisse twirled once, the dress billowing around her legs in a beautiful iridescent band of gold and pink, the wide-necked design showing off her pale shoulders in the bright morning sun that slipped through the shop's window.

The owner hadn't lied when she'd said she had the perfect pieces for the petite blonde.

"Not bad," Celeste tapped her chin thoughtfully, tilting her head to evaluate the needlework of the dress, nowhere near as nice as what Pennelope crafted but it would do, at least until the woman set up her new shop. "I still think the silver and blue looked nicer."

"¿Porque no los dos?" Gandriel hummed from his supine position on the red velvet chaise lounge—Why not both? Celeste realized he'd inquired. She was inclined to agree. She and Anelisse were slowly beginning to understand the rolling Monteserrian language he spoke, namely the foul curses that tended to slip past his lips.

The male clicked his tongue as he flipped through a book of songs for lute he'd picked up from the market square, his crisp new white shirt bright in the sunlight. "They both look make you look radiant after all."

He fluttered his long gold lashes at Anelisse and flashed her a grin, his tawny eyes glinting playfully as he smiled at her, their emerald and gold hues shimmering like jewels.

Color bloomed high on Anelisse's cheeks.

Celeste barely contained the eye roll.

Anelisse turned back to the mirror and ran her hand down the front of the gown, the fabric exquisite and price tag just as extravagant. "I do think I'll get both . . . if that's all right?" She sent Celeste an inquiring look.

An old habit.

Celeste laughed.

"Like there was ever another choice, get them both and those teal shoes too," a nod to the embroidered suede slippers by her feet, "they look too nice not to."

Anelisse's face broke into a wide grin as she dipped quickly to swipe up the other dress and shoes. Rising she returned to the dressing rooms to slip back in her original dress, a simpler cotton piece she'd been wearing while they shopped and did their best to avoid Ithaca.

The . . . woman . . . had taken to prowling the balcony like a stray cat, growling at all hours about being released at once.

Celeste had merely ignored her, going so far as to have pulled the curtain over the door's window so that the woman couldn't glare inside.

She'd leave eventually.

Patting absently at her pockets she felt the satchel of coin she'd brought with them, content to spend the bulk of it on whatever they needed or, in Anelisse's case, wanted.

A sense of peace enveloped her, as she relished in the fact she was able to buy her sister such lovely things without putting a significant dent in their finances. And if their coffers were only going to grow with the work Fallon had offered them . . . She sighed in relief as she leaned back against the wall, surveying the bright room with its many mirrors.

The owner would definitely be pleased with their choices.

Even if Celeste had elected not to try on the wispy gown of midnight that shimmered with lustrous moonstone beading that the shopkeeper had presented her, its neckline a plunging v that would have left little to the imagination.

She had no use for such things.

Gandriel grunted, as though he'd read her mind. "You should get something as well, something dark and seductive like the dress you refused to try on. You can slay your enemies while looking like a goddess of the Underworld."

A snort.

"No, thank you, I have no need for dresses." She stretched her foot, her new black leather boots crinkling as she twisted her ankle, mindful of the invisible trigger on the heel that would send a blade flying. "These, on the other hand, will serve me just fine."

She'd spent her share of the money stocking up on various supplies she'd find useful on her future hunts, dark shirts, leather leggings and a plethora of knives in every shape and variety, as well as a deep-hooded cloak.

"You were eyeballing it."

"I'm surprised you noticed with how you were eyeballing my sister."

"The shopkeeper knows how to sell a product, forgive me for appreciating her exquisite taste. I would be doing the same to you if you'd tried the dress on."

"Perhaps we should stuff you in it instead and tie you to the front of the Loreley," she looked at her nails, freshly trimmed and shaped, "you'd serve more use as a figurehead."

He barked a bright, high laugh.

"I think you'd only be jealous that you couldn't be as beautiful as me."

Celeste found herself smirking.

"If you consider that beauty I think I'm grateful to not be considered as a competitor."

"You wound me. I'm serious Celeste, you should buy it if for no other reason than to shove me into it the next time we drink."

"I'll think about it."

"Think about what?" Anelisse peeked her head out from the dressing room, her silvery curls bundled loosely on her head, "are we talking about that dress the shopkeeper wanted Celeste to try? I think you should buy it."

Celeste shook her head, pushing off the wall. "You're both worthless and are going to spend all of our coin on useless things. Let's go."

* * *

The loaf of bread was a crisp golden brown, its crust littered with elaborate leaf patterns and braided dough garnishing its edges. Pleased with her creation, Elaine eased it from the oven, mindful of the hot steam wafting from it.

With nimble hands she quickly sat it on the counter and tapped knuckle on the bottom of it, content with the hollow echo that sounded from it.

Carefully, she scooted it over to join the other numerous loaves she'd baked, all various colors and designs, the baking having served as distraction for her during the final days of the Rite. She'd grown tired of sitting idly with Mor and Amren in the Riverside Estate, anxiously awaiting the results.

A red-faced, relieved Mor had informed her that Cenric had survived the Rite. She'd nearly collapsed in relief, content to lay on her bed in bliss until she'd heard of the circumstances surrounding it. Her nephew, along with the few remaining warriors, had not passed the Rite.

And would not be permitted to take it again, either.

Shame filled her as she'd taken in the news, mindlessly chewing on her lip, knowing that speaking to Feyre had contributed to that outcome. She'd felt even worse when Cenric had winnowed straight into the living room without a word before storming up the stairs, going so far as to nearly shoulder-check Amren in his ascent.

The ancient woman had hissed her irritation at the boy, threats of disembowelment leaving her lips, but he'd completely ignored her before slamming the door to his suite closed. Mor had flinched as the paintings on the walls swayed dangerously.

Not knowing how to help, Elaine had returned to the kitchen and started baking again, making loaves of bread alongside a pile of sugared pastries that she knew her nephew favored, hoping he'd find it in himself to forgive her for her part in his failure.

Kneading the dough, she barely registered the rustle of fabric as a figure materialized behind her, his footsteps near silent. She only registered the presence when a broad hand suddenly rested on her hip, tugging her close and nearly making her jump as strong arms wrapped around her.

The familiar scent of cedar enveloped her.

"Azriel," she turned in his arms to face him, surprised by the sudden contact, the dough on the counter suddenly forgotten. "You're back!"

Looking up at his handsome face she felt her lips purse as she saw the sorrow that flitted across his features, the shadows that dipped across the broad lines and sharp nose twining up to wreath his unusually slumped wings.

She reached up a gentle hand to cup his jaw before she suddenly remembered she was covered in flour and water.

"One moment, let me wash my hands—"

Azriel seemed none the wiser to it as he suddenly grasped her hand and pressed it to his cheek, nuzzling his face into her palm as his eyes closed, a low sigh of reprieve escaping his lips.

Concern filled Elaine.

"Are you all right?"

She gently ran her thumb across his cheekbone, smearing flour across his golden skin.

"Now," he gently pulled her hand away from his face, softly kissing her palm and nodding toward the sink, "let me help you clean up, I'd like to talk to you."

Worry slipped into her mind as the words left her love's lips, his features still wreathed in shadow. Had she done something? Was he upset that she'd helped Feyre interrupt the Rite?

He pressed another kiss to her brow, squeezing her gently around her middle. "No, Elaine, it's not you." She felt a blush rush up her cheeks; he'd always read her so easily. He pulled her close one last time before gently letting her go. "Will you come with me?"

"Of course," she began brushing at her hands, attempting to wipe off the flour on her apron. "Just give me a moment."

Azriel took a towel from the counter and dampened it in the sink before Elaine could move. With ease he brushed it across her palms, wiping away the remaining bits of dough. She felt something in her soften at the gentleness, the attentiveness.

Once he'd finished he pressed another soft kiss to the inside of her wrist before nodding toward archway of the kitchen. She nodded, slipping her hand into his and following him out of the kitchen and up the staircase that led to her own set of rooms.

Even though she'd been with Azriel for nearly a century they'd still kept separate quarters, a sense of modesty he'd offered her since they'd never officiated their relationship, not that there hadn't been an offer to.

She toyed with the lovely golden ring that sat on her left ring finger, its morganite stone a beautiful rose pink surrounded by the petals and vines of gold, their leaves encrusted with small diamonds.

Something Azriel had taken their late niece to help him shop for. The girl's taste had been impeccable even as a child. When Elaine asked him why he'd chosen to take Celeste for help he'd wryly informed her she'd been the only he could trust to keep a secret.

And the girl had never said a peep about it, even after he'd presented it to Elaine that night on the Sidra.

They'd planned to wed the Spring that Celeste had died.

It had been on hiatus ever since.

They slipped into the dimly lit suite, the cream-colored comforter washed in golden tones from the fading rays of the sunlight that slipped through the window. Striding towards the glass, Elaine peered out onto the river, watching the lapis waters roll lazily as her thoughts slid to her nephew.

She hoped he'd find the pile of pastries in the kitchen she'd left him, perhaps he and Feyre could share them as they talked. She'd taken note of her sister as they'd moved through the main room, her scent twining up the staircase and to the right toward his suite.

Elaine trusted they could work it out, believing in the bond that had held the two so close to one another.

But her mind did not linger there, instead trailing back to the male who stood behind her.

Whatever Azriel wanted to talk must have weighed heavily on him if he'd wanted privacy with her. Mor had told her they'd faced a great deal in the Steppes and whatever he'd seen . . . she'd bear the burden too.

She'd just turned to address him when she felt her nose nearly graze his chest, unaware of how closely he stood behind her. Peering owlishly up at him she felt the breath hitch in her throat when she saw the glimmer that flicked to life in his eye.

Something she hadn't seen in an age.

Tentatively he tugged the gloves from his hands, revealing the pristine golden-brown skin beneath, absent of the scars that had haunted him for centuries.

Lightly he ran his hand down the length of her hair, a sigh passing through his lips as he toyed with one of her golden-brown curls.

"What did you want to talk about?" Elaine felt her toes curl in her slippers, trying to ignore the delicate caress of his fingers in her hair, the soft gaze he saved only for her. Whatever he needed she'd give it to him-

He bent low and pressed a firm but chaste kiss to her lips, surprise flitting through her.

"This."

He nipped gently at her upper lip, a tentative question.

Always her choice.

Elaine did not hesitate.

Leaning into him, she pressed her body flush against his as she opened herself to him. Sucking delicately on his bottom lip, she slipped her fingers into his hair, eliciting a low groan that had a thrill coursing through her.

How long had it been since she'd indulged in him? Since he'd let her touch him in a way that wasn't a purely comforting gesture?

His hands trailed down her back, roving in loose, lazy circles that had her skin flecking up beneath her thin dress, heat beginning to pool in her core. His broad chest was pressed against her own, flattening her breasts against firm muscle.

Each movement sent tendrils of desire through her as he grasped her to him, pulling her closer as his hands cupped her bottom and pulled her up towards him.

Her mind was a whirlwind of respite and pleasure as she pulled a hand free of his hair and began tugging at the fastenings on his leathers, reaching beneath the fur-lined garments to rove over his bare shoulders and chest.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, panting as he nipped at the bits of exposed skin, gently tugging at her collarbone with his teeth, slowly running his tongue across the rising goosebumps.

A small moan escaped her lips as he pressed his palm tentatively into the tender flesh of her hips, causing her to roll them experimentally against him, willing each point of contact between them to last.

Elaine knew it was his undoing and he swept her up into his arms, continuing to pepper her neck with kisses, trailing his full lips down the thin column of her throat.

With near reverence he eased Elaine down onto her bed, her palms pressed flat to his chest as he hovered above her, eyes roving.

"Marry me, Elaine."

Surprise shot through her as she looked up at him.

"Pardon?"

"Marry me," he leaned down to press kisses to both of her cheeks, his soft hair tickling her temple. "Please."

"I already promised you that long ago." She thought of the golden band on her hand. "I thought you- with everything going on-"

His hand roved up the length of her leg, pooling her dress in a lilac pile at her hip, sending flour dusting onto the comforter like snow.

"We've waited long enough," he reached for her hand, eyeing the band that sat on her finger, no doubt remembering who'd help him select it before placing a tentative kiss to the stone. "Happiness should not be postponed for grief."

Oh.

The words wound through Elaine like vines, soft and assuring. A light at the end of the grief, a chance to move forward from what had been taken.

She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. How long had she waited for this? For the return of the male who'd brought her back from the darkness, for the one who'd stolen her heart away from the moment he'd risked everything to save her from Hybern?

"Of course, Az," she reached a hand for his face, tracing the length of his jaw with her fingertip. "I'd be honored to."

He smiled at her response, a rare, true smile before beginning his ministrations again, losing himself in her, his touch nearly driving her to madness.

She was content to let him continue, watching as he deftly tugged at the laces of her dress before she caught sight of a paper out of the corner of her eye, the note that had arrived that morning—

"Azriel," he paused immediately, waiting, "a letter came from Lucien." Azriel went completely still, his pupils dilating, wings flaring. "—It was about the slave trade on the continent, it was addressed to you." Heat flared up her cheeks, "I decided to peek at it."

He visibly deflated. He watched her, waiting for her to continue.

"They flushed out one of the trade routes, freed an entire ship, they want to convene in Marchedor in a few months' time." She brushed the hair from his face. "You should look at it."

He nodded stiffly as he reached for the letter that sat on Elaine's night stand, even though she knew it was the last thing on his mind. She sat up and watched him unfold the paper, his eyes glancing through the text. His brows narrowed and, with a swift flick of his wrist, he disregarded the parchment on the floor.

Elaine's jaw went slack.

"Later," he leaned down, trailing kisses over her face, "It can wait."

Elaine tried to think past the arousal, the need to have him as she pressed a hand against his chest, halting him once more. People's lives were depending on this, a promise their Court had made to help with the fallout after the wall's collapse-

"Azriel, they want fae emissaries."

"Send someone else."

His voice had become a husky growl, his attention wholly fixed on her as he began to gently tug the last of the laces loose, freeing her from her gown.

A breathy laugh escaped her as the air pebbled her skin, her breasts tightening in the coolness of the room.

His pupils dilated as he took her in, watching her.

Yes, perhaps they should let someone else deal with it, at least for the time being.

"All right."

She reached for him, insisting on helping him undress, peeling the last of his leathers and siphons away, his fingers trailing over her, exploring.

He paused once, gently taking her hand. "Elaine."

"Hmmm?"

He pressed his lips near her ear, his hot breath tickling. "Forgive me for not wanting another male's name on your lips."

* * *

Celeste bought the gown.

She finally agreed to try it on at Anelisse's insistence and had been pleased to find that it fit like a glove, the material silky to the touch. Its stitching was finer than the gowns Anelisse had purchased, nearly as nice as Pennelope's handiwork.

A feeling of melancholy had consumed her as she'd looked at herself in it, a tinkering feeling of familiarity flitting through her at being dressed so finely, at the vanity that came with wasting money on such impractical things.

A nearly forgotten desire inside her demanded she purchase it.

So, she listened.

She'd refused to let either Anelisse or Gandriel see it much to their dismay. Instead she'd merely said she was purchasing it only to hold Gandriel true to his word about their next little drinking expedition.

Not that Anelisse would need to participate in another anytime soon. She'd finally woken up on their second morning in Marchedor feeling herself again, all signs of her perpetual hangover gone and her color and desire to paint returning in its place.

She'd been using what remained of her set that Celeste had rescued from Vanica, humming as she mixed the crude colors and rendered sketch after sketch. Upon seeing the lack of variety she'd had to work with Gandriel had demanded they venture into the city to get her a new, more elaborate set.

That and to purchase pastries, especially since Anelisse had been stuffing her mouth with any sweet she could get her fingers on.

Which was where they were now headed, meandering toward the tiny pastry shop in the market square when the owner had already learned her sister's name. The older, human woman waved the group over as they approached, already pulling fresh pastries from her oven.

"Pleasure, Miss Anelisse!" The woman smiled broadly, wrapping the treats in wax-coated papers. "Fresh cherry this mornin' for you, darling."

"Oh, thank you!" Anelisse passed a few coppers to the woman as she snatched up the pastries and passed them to Celeste and Gandriel, "You're such a wonder, Celli."

"You're too sweet, child." She dusted her hands off on her apron, her round face merry. "Where are you off to this evening?"

"Hunting for paints," Anelisse said around a mouthful of pastry, already halfway through it, "I'm hoping to find some nice pigments. Any recommendations?"

Celli pondered, sprinkling flour on her table.

"There's a shop up in North Town that sells some standard sets." She paused, then nodded her head across the square towards an empty, dilapidated structure across from her. "Used to be a fae lady who use to sell rare pigments there, had many a customer." Celli's smile vanished. "Rumor iss slavers got 'er. It's been empty ever since she disappeared."

Celeste felt a tendril of anger course through her, suddenly keenly aware of the letters addressed to her in Fallon's rolling script that had arrived that morning. They still sat, unopened, on her and her sister's shared dresser in Gandriel's small apartment.

"Bet this square would benefit from another artist though," the woman had pulled free a bundle of dough and was kneading. "You could set up there, darlin', sell your works, give you something to do." She shot a knowing look towards Celeste and Gandriel, "Since you seem pretty well taken care of. It'd be a good way to pass the time."

Anelisse paused, pondering before a sweet smile overtook her features.

"I think I'd like that very much."

* * *

Elaine had fallen into a deep sleep after their lovemaking, her lithe body bundled in the cream comforter as she slept quietly, the evening sun having set deep beyond the horizon, casting the room in deep shadows.

They sang to him, quiet and knowing as he disentangled himself from Elaine, unwillingly leaving the warm bed.

He'd tended to Elain for hours, breaking apart the walls he'd erected between them, those towering structures of grief and guilt he'd confined himself in for years, ripping them down piece by piece as he yielded himself to her fully once again.

 _Happiness cannot be postponed for grief._

How many close calls had they faced?

How many times had their survival come as a result of their stubborn will alone?

Life was not a given. It had never been.

And with what had happened in the Steppes, with that fucking creature using her form as a means of baiting Feyre—

Shoving his legs into his leathers, he pulled them up around his narrow hips and deftly closed them. He didn't bother with the discarded shirt.

Every damning word Feyre had thrown at him had been true.

Every. Single. One.

Her death would be a weight he would bear for eternity. A grueling reminder of his failure to protect the city that was his home and the people he called family.

He was grateful for the deep darkness, the shadows that obscured his healed hands.

He could only hope he could catch a glimpse of her one last time when the darkness finally claimed him.

Just once more.

They hadn't suffered nearly enough.

Neither had he.

He was still irate, content to spend the next few years slowly carving the entire monstrous species from the Steppes again. He'd exterminate them himself, one at a time, just like he'd done with the Illyrian traitors.

He eyed Truth-Teller, discarded with his boots, its obsidian hilt barely discernable in the darkness.

There was always time to break those who wronged those you cared for.

Beast or not.

He braced his hands against the ivory desk in Elaine's room, glancing over the rose stationary she preferred, the quartz paperweight he'd given her years ago.

But life—a soft glance at the sleeping female—how long had he postponed it?

There never would be the right time to give Elain everything she deserved, no perfect, peaceful moment. And he wanted to give it to her—badly—so why had he waited?

 _Because you're daft,_ he could hear Cassian gripe.

He was just grateful she'd still have him.

The origin of the leshka still puzzled him, trying to understand what had driven the beast back into the mountains. Another mystery for another time. In the meanwhile—

Lucien's scent wafted from the letter, sending pulses of possessiveness through him, making him want to crumple the paper and throw it away. But he was better than that, or at least he pretended to be.

The male had been more than accommodating with the bond with Elaine, going so far as to avoid visiting Night to give Elaine the space she needed, to respect the fact that she'd chosen Azriel. But with her laying there, sleeping after their joining—

It was best he ignored his existence.

Kneeling, he swiped up the discarded letter, the faint curve of Lucien's scrawling text nearly indecipherable.

He'd been tracking leads for the slave routes for months prior to the Rite, most of them dead ends, loops of endless, useless information, but this . . . whoever'd gotten those papers . . . incredible.

He'd thank them personally if he ever got the chance.

To Marchedor then.

Perhaps he'd purchase Feyre more of those rare pigments of paint he'd found there, those sold in the market square. An apology for all that he'd failed in.

But life, the future-

He smiled faintly.

There was a wedding to plan.


	43. News and Seperation

_**Author's Note: Hi all! Book One of this series is finished finally! Don't worry there's still plenty more to come I just felt this was a natural breaking point before the next part of the story really kicks in. Your reviews are appreciated as always and give me such motivation to write (as seen with the flurry of updates hahaha). I love hearing your theories and any feedback is always appreciated :) Thank you all so much!**_

It was the searing hell that tore through depthless sleep that roused Valka. The burning sensation of nerves flaring to life had her groaning as she fought to peel her sealed eyes open.

She had really hoped the afterlife wouldn't be so damn aching. Had hoped perhaps it'd be filled with her own personal harem and a never-ending cask of mead she could glut herself on.

Apparently, she'd been wrong.

Fluttering her eyelids, she found herself staring up at off-white canvas, the whistling of spring breezes fluttering the tent flap and through the Steppes outside.

Or maybe not.

She'd survived being poked full of holes somehow. Blinking, she tried to recall what had happened after the arrows had pierced her chest as she'd pleaded with Cenric, tried to warn him of who was behind the rebellions—

"Blessings from the Mother," Valka felt ice fill her veins as the voice sounded above her, sparkling emeralds staring down at her. "I had feared you would be lost to the darkness."

 _I wish I had been_ , Valka thought tartly.

She swallowed, of all the bullshit she didn't want to deal with.

"The High Lady blessed you with her healing blood." A soft, polite smile, "I do wonder how it must have tasted on your lips."

Definitely not in the mood to deal with this.

"Mother-" Excuses, she needed excuses, anything to cover up that she'd protected the lord's son, even if for her own selfish reasons—

"Well done, my child," a soft, delicate hand landed on Valka's face, "your brilliance shines once more. Gaining their trust, showing your allegiance, you've done well."

She felt emptiness wash over her, a shiver dancing up her spine.

"Your dear Captain stayed by your side through the long nights," a delicate dip of her chin, the picture of a poised lady, "she left only when her mate needed her." A pause. "She doesn't trust me," a long finger trailed down Valka's face, the nail scratching. "I wonder where such distrust comes from." The finger lifted. "No matter, we've work to do."

Valka let a breath loose that she hadn't realized she'd been holding, the phantom feeling of her mother's hand on her face making her shudder. Oiliness pooled inside of her. Where was Cenric? Had he survived?

"What happened?" Unwise to question, but she needed information.

She struggled to pull herself into a sitting position but was immediately pushed back down, the too-perfect hands adjusting the blanket around her.

Valka had never felt such an urge to bolt.

"My late husbands' dear youngest brother suddenly felt the need to proclaim his loyalty to his nephew, our dear Silbah." She ran a gentle hand through her silky black locks, useless wings tucked tight. "He told them everything, a final defiance against the Lord and his kind."

Valka's eyes narrowed.

The last Ironwood Lord had been the only one to remain neutral in the fight for the throne, having supported neither her brother or the High Lord. Only his children, his relatives, bought into the ideology of a new King.

"Do not look so surprised, my dear," her mother hummed as she reached for a damp rag, wringing it before easing it onto Valka's forehead. "It took very little convincing, a small incision in his mind," more soft humming, her hand running down Valka's arm, "a slight nudge and he did as he was required."

Valka tried to keep her breathing stable, forcing herself to not yank her arm away from the caress.

She'd used another pawn, another move in this chess game she played.

She prayed Cenric was gone, winnowed far away back to his city of starlight when her mother's claws could not touch him.

"Heal," she dipped her head near Valka's ear, a mother murmuring her reassurances to her child. "There is much to finish." A squeeze, the flush of dark magic dancing, encasing her briefly, "They've found their peace and eyes are turned. The time is nigh."

She had to find a way out.

* * *

"Cenric please-"

"Did you even consider the consequences?" His voice was sharp as a silver blade, his room blanketed in shadow as he paced back and forth, tossing things haphazardly into a large canvas bag. "Did you even think about anything beyond your own selfish feelings in this?"

His pupils flared dangerously as he seethed, his lips peeling back from his teeth. I'd found him in his room packing, grabbing handfuls of his belongings as he'd gathered what he deemed essential, his closet door flung open from where he'd rummaged through his clothes.

He was leaving.

I'd done this.

"Cenric, I need you to listen." Just a chance, all I needed was a chance. "Let me explain things to you, let me apologize for this—"

The room shuddered beneath the power that rolled off him, the air visibly wavering. He was done with talking.

Leverage, I needed something to make him listen, to make him stay-

"An apology isn't going to change anything, it's not going to fix anything." He tore his hands violently through his shaggy hair, sending the raven tresses in every direction. "What did you think would happen?"

"Listen to your mother, let her talk." Rhys remained stoic, his voice low as he stood braced against the wall, monitoring the exchange. He'd joined us as soon as he'd felt the raw panic that filled me when I'd seen my son packing, when he wouldn't so much as look at me.

Cenric sent him a sour look.

"I was trying to protect you, to keep you safe," I sucked in a shuddering breath, frustration filling me, "to keep those bastards from killing you."

"I survived."

"Because of my blood," I snapped back, agitation saturating me. He had to understand what I was trying to do, that I had only wanted to protect him. He needed to know that I had only acted in his best interest.

"Then maybe I should have died on that mountain," a sneer, "it would have left a better impression of our Court that having my mother swoop in to save me. It would have prevented Valka from nearly dying."

I tried not to think of the grey-eyed female who'd saved my son not once but twice. She'd survived, barely.

As for the Illyrians-

"To hell with what they think!" I threw out an arm, willing him to see reason, part of me wishing he was small again so that I could swoop him into my arms and hold him, comfort him. "Your safety was what mattered, the only thing that has ever mattered in all of this."

"No, stopping them was." A pause, a shudder racing across his shoulders, "And it's over now and I'm done with this and with you."

The words struck hard. I flinched.

Rhysand straightened, his patience finally beginning to flag. I had no doubt that he was going to try his hand at placating our son, when I found my voice cutting in coldly.

"You will not leave." I could order him to stay, order him to stop until he calmed down, until we both collected our thoughts and we could sort through this logically. "As your High Lady I order it."

He froze, his eyes going wholly black as he dropped the notebook he was holding onto the dresser beside him. I could feel Rhys gaping at me, taken aback by the sudden, direct order.

"You can't keep me here." A flash of teeth, the groaning of the furniture as his power became a heavy blanket coating the room.

"I can and I will," I'd ward the entire damn house if only to keep him here, to keep him from leaving—"This conversation isn't over."

 _Feyre._

I shouldered out of Rhys' hold on my mind, ignoring his advice to think about what I was doing, what I was saying.

I needed to stop Cenric, needed him to stay until we could work this out-

"Do you really want to do this?" My son's face had gone stony, the light fleeing his eyes.

"You're not going to listen any other way—"

 _FEYRE._

A snap echoed through the room as the posts on Cenric's bed shattered, sending splitters flying the, wood tumbling to the floor.

Ice tore down my spine as I watched the bed collapse, when I heard the curse that slipped past Rhysand's lips.

"Then I resign my position within your Court." My stomach twisted in fear, the reality of what'd I'd just done rapidly flooding in, "I revoke my right as heir and say to hell with all of it." He shouldered his pack, readying to winnow. "Find someone else who wants to be coddled, who's willing to let their enemies bully them into submission."

My resolve had melted, my hands shaking with the understanding of the divide I'd just cleaved clean through. There would be no patching this.

I was acting like him—

"Cenric, please, you can't go," I swallowed past the lump in my throat, the tears threatening to overflow, my tone soft, barely audible. "You're my son, this is your home—" I love you.

"It stopped being my home the second you decided I needed to be locked up like some porcelain doll," The words struck a chord, a mansion appeared in my mind, one I'd long since forgotten, the splattering of red paint spilling down the wall. "You made your choice when you followed me into those mountains and now I'm making my own."

"Cenric." A plea from my mate, his eyes shadowed as he watched our son, his own power rallying as though he'd follow after him when he left.

All of it my fault.

"Stay out of this."

"You're not being reasonable."

"You're not part of this," A finger pointed at the door. "Get out, both of you."

"Cenric-"

He was gone, the spot where he stood empty and rippling with shadows, the remnants of his power that had flooded the room.

I felt myself slump, Rhys' arms enveloping me.

"I'll go after him," he pulled me close, lifting me up to set me back on my feet, "talk some sense into him. I never expected him to be this bullheaded—" I laid a hand on Rhys's arm, stopping his tirade.

"Don't," the tears leaked down my cheeks, creating dark splotches on my worn tunic, "he has every right."

"He's spent too much time in the Steppes, he's picking up the piss-poor attitude and temper."

"He should be angry." I wiped feebly at my face, feeling the world falling away beneath my feet, he'd swore off his birthright, his attachment to our family—what had I done?

Where had he even gone?

"He's just spewing," Rhys shook his head, grousing his annoyance, "I was no better at his age, wanting to buck and fight at any opportunity I got. He's probably run off to an inn somewhere to cool his temper, he won't be gone long-"

"No, that's not Cenric." Our son was a pacifist, a gentle soul who did not fight needlessly, who did not make idle threats when he was angry. But when his temper finally boiled over, when he sunk his teeth into something—

He had meant every word.

"I finally understand."

Rhys quirked a brow at me.

"Understand why I want to throw Cassian into a canyon at least once a week?" A subtle attempt at humor, to soften the blow, to make light of what had transpired.

"Why Tamlin did what he did."

Why he kept things from me, why he acted in the way he best saw fit when I wouldn't listen to his fears. He hadn't been right in his actions and neither had I when dealing with my son.

Understanding filled me. It would never excuse it but . . . clarity, there was clarity there. To love someone so much, to be so desperate, the desire to keep them locked away so no matter how much they hated you they would at least be safe. To care so much that your love become poison, leeching and deadly.

Rhysand stiffened, his voice tight.

"Feyre."

"I mean it." I pushed away from him, wrapping my arms around myself as I thought back on the emotions that had no doubt driven Tamlin to control me the way he had, to want to monitor everything I did- "I'm no better than he was."

For I'd threatened the same thing, trying keep Cenric in one place to get him to listen to my "good reason"—Mother, what was I becoming?

"It's not even remotely the same and you know that." Fury filled my mate's voice at implication that I would even compare myself to him-

But it was true.

"It is."

"Feyre, you're not even listening to me." A hand on my wrist, another on my face, forcing me to look at him. "Never compare yourself to him. To . . . that."

But I wasn't listening. All I could think about was a beautiful cage encased in vines and roses, the will of a male who'd nearly suffocated me with his need to control me. To protect me.

I finally understood.

* * *

Evening was falling over the Estate, the sound of servants finishing their tasks flitting throughout the manor and the echoing laughter of returning sentries resounding through the halls. Sentries that had been hard won again, their loyalty to their Lord slowly rekindled.

Lucien had helped in that effort, if only to soothe the guilt that had filled him upon finally being allowed to return to Spring, to the desolation that had consumed the place he had called once called home. The hell that had been wrought in his absence.

Reclaiming their loyalty had taken decades, grueling hours of negotiations and carefully worded speeches to call many of them home.

But they'd managed.

It had taken nearly that long to reclaim the shattered friendship that he had shared with Tamlin, the male having only been a shadow of his former self when he'd returned. A fragment.

After years and immense efforts on his part to repair what had been broken, to assist in building up the male to the person he'd been before the hell Feyre had reaped, Tamlin's old self had emerged.

A battle hard fought and barely won.

It was the trained, careful footsteps of said male that now approached, no doubt coming to call Lucien for dinner. He shuffled the papers before him, trying to ignore the enticing smell of perfume that curled from one of them, the tell-tale violet ink in the elaborate, bold script he'd know anywhere.

If he had any sense he'd throw it away, would send Bron or Hart in his place to deal with the temptress who beckoned him. He'd been defenseless against her, as though her every desire commanded him.

He'd never learned how she'd managed to entice him, how he could never seem to escape her when she summoned him, like a faithful pet.

He groaned, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

Yes, perhaps he'd send a sentry in his place, even have them dress in that jade doublet she was requesting just to sweeten the deal.

Somehow, he knew he'd still end up going.

"Letters?" Tamlin's deep voice echoed throughout the chamber as he leaned on the doorframe, his green eyes evaluating as he watched Lucien. "Anything of interest?"

A shake of his head. "Nothing new."

He pushed the parchment he'd read again and again away, having already shared the news with Tamlin.

They finally had leads, names and trade routes, receipts of people sold and where they'd been shipped to. A fighting chance to win back peace for both the humans and fae facing the slave trade.

He only had to meet with Fallon to acquire the information.

'Meet' with Fallon.

He rubbed at his eyes.

He'd already sent word to the other Courts about the developments on the continent, on the information Fallon had managed to gather. Even to Night Court, where Azriel remained with Elaine—

He clamped down on the age old instinctual need to claim her, the need to bleed the Shadowsinger. Years of practice had taught him how to deal with the urges well. He ignored the tug, burying it beneath layers and layers of control.

And with the announcement that their wedding was to be resumed, the party to follow . . .

She had made her choice.

And even if things had been better between their courts, between him and Feyre, his home was not there.

"I smell violets and plum," a knowing nod to the pile before him, "I thought you'd already read that letter." A knowing light flickered in Tamlin's eyes, his lips barely tilting upwards at the corners.

Lucien cringed.

"I'm trying to figure out how to respond to her." A sigh. "Perhaps I'll send someone in my place."

"Because that worked marvelously for you last time," Tamlin shifted his feet, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "You'd have more luck telling her you've died."

"At least her father would be pleased." Last he recalled, Vaerek was still furious with him. The man had a powerful left hook for a human, one that had left Lucien's immortal jaw sore for days.

Tamlin snorted.

"Well, you can dwell on it later." He nodded over a shoulder, "Dinner is ready."

He'd figure out how to maneuver around Fallon. Maybe he'd ask Tamlin to go, to have the chance to see how the High Lord wrangled the fiery sea captain.

No, he already knew who would win that battle, even if he would not admit such a verdict to the friend that stood before him. Tamlin had always been . . . less than successful with powerful women.

Rising, he bumped another piece of parchment, sending it gliding to the floor. He'd nearly forgotten that it had arrived.

There had been news to share, news that'd they'd be awaiting since word of her illness had reached Pyrthian's shores.

Tamlin had not been still since the initial message had arrived, mindlessly roaming the estate as though he'd leave at any minute to tend to her before deciding against it. He clearly wanted to keep his head where it was between his shoulders.

Lucien swiftly bent to pick it, contemplating if he should deliver what lay inside the note.

"What is it?" Tension filled Tamlin's shoulders as his sharp eyes caught the thunderbolt seal, the symbol he'd likely never forget. "Is there . . . news?"

Lucien nodded, holding the letter out to him.

"Just . . . tell me." His eyes flickered to the side, something like fear kindling there. "Is . . . did she…?"

"Alive," Tamlin visibly deflated, a breath slipping from his lips, "recovering, slowly."

The lord reached for the note, his eyes devouring the text. Lucien kept his face neutral as he watched Tamlin's face soften, something like peace draping over his features.

"I'm sorry there isn't more information." The informants he'd sent to glean information had been woefully useless, most having been chased away from her family estate by her feral sisters.

"It's enough." Tamlin rested his face in his palms, relief curving his shoulders. "As long as she's still here, still fighting." The eyes of the male that rose were older than Lucien remembered, filled with a heartache of failure after failure.

If Feyre had been a storm in Tamlin's life then _she_ had been a hurricane, swift and brutal-everything that the male had needed to piece himself back together after his fallout with the High Lady of Night.

Even when she, too, finally fled him in the dead of night, furious.

His friend had never pursued her, convinced he'd failed another female in the way he'd sabotaged Feyre.

Lucien hadn't been so certain that was the case, having watched the way his friend had changed with her, the way he'd grown, softer and more open.

Not knowing what to say, Lucien gestured towards the door, beckoning Tamlin to lead. The lord slipped out, his air calmer than it had been for months.

Lucien followed closely, the smell of violets still lingering.

He was doomed.

 **End Book One**


	44. Book 2: Chapter 1: Wine and Explosives

_**Author's Note: Warning for implied under age sex, it's not explicit but it is there. Hope you enjoy the start of Book 2! In case you're interested I listened to Low Key by Ally Brooke for Fallon's part and the Lone Ranger Finale sound track for Gandriel and Anelisse.**_

The single bottle of chardonnay had been a lie, a pretty fib wrapped up in silken mauve sheets and sprinkled with the alluring scent of violets and the feel of creamy soft, supple skin.

It'd been a rare riesling ice wine instead, hand-selected from the vineyards in the foothills surrounding the mountain passes leading out of Rask, an eight-hundred-year-old vintage that Lucien had only had the honor of sipping once at one of his father's banquets when the Lord of Autumn had managed to procure a single case for a visiting dignitary.

Somehow, Fallon had gotten her clever little hands on four bottles, no, five, he noted as he watched her pop the cork from another and drink generously from it. His head was swimming. And while indulged and gratified from their continuous romp his body was near collapsing.

Noticing his attention, she gave him a simpering smile, "I knew you missed me, Lucien."

Trouble, this female was absolutely nothing but trouble—

"A drink?"

He should say no, tell her that this was quite enough and they had matters of business to attend to—

"Of course." He took the bottle from her hands, swigging from the sweet liquor and savoring the melding flavors of plum, raspberry and honey . . . why in the Mother's name was he even drinking?

Her eyes sparkled in amusement as she watched him, the smooth dips and curves of her body illuminated in the flickering candlelight. Calling her a temptress didn't even begin to describe her.

"Now," he watched as she slid onto the bed next to him, trailing her fingers down the panes of his chest, sending sparks of electricity dancing through him, "where were we?"

He needed to resist the temptation, to ignore her fiery, inescapable allure, those full, peaked breasts—focus, he had to focus on the actual matters at hand—

"The papers, Fallon." He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked locks, his face equally drenched . . . how long had they been at this? "We were to discuss the papers you acquired."

A sour look crossed her face as she lowered the wine bottle, her lovely nose scrunching as she righted herself on the bed.

"Right."

She rose and snatched a pile of documents from her mahogany desk, briefly flipping through them before sauntering back and dropping them unceremoniously onto Lucien's bare chest.

"All the information you could ask for." Resting her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes at the pages. "Ah, except a few, Vaerek's been making copies." He tried to keep his face neutral at the mention of her father. "A moment."

She quickly strode across the room to the door and pried the heavy wood open. A cool breeze snaked in, saturated with the scent of the sea as she shouted.

"Vaerek!"

She peeked her head out, auburn tresses suspiciously askew, "Bring me the rest of the ledgers!"

Horror leached through Lucien as he realized she was stark naked in the doorway and he was drunk and draped across her bed like some fur rug. He clumsily fumbled for the blanket, his reflexes slowed from the excessive amounts of wine. Dragging it over his bottom half, he found himself tempted to scramble from the bed and into the closet.

That was, if he could stay upright long enough to stumble over to the overfilled monstrosity and acquire a proper hiding spot.

He hadn't spotted Vaerek when he'd boarded the _Siren_ , thinking the human male was tending to other errands on the continent, not sleeping down the hall from where'd they'd been, loudly, having sex.

He hadn't even had the wisdom to try and detect him, too caught up in Fallon as she dragged him below deck, her hips a soft sashay as she lured him into her chambers.

Her father had never forgiven Lucien for his and Fallon's first encounter just over a decade ago. How was he supposed to know she'd lied about her age? Disbelief had coiled in his gut at his stupidity for falling for her little game then.

That clever eyed little vixen who'd cornered him at an ambassador's meeting and lured him into bed with her-

"Fallon," he hissed, golden eye whirring as he heard the light scuffing of boots approaching, the footfalls nearly as light as any fae, "decency!" She shot a brow up at him, her assets on full display. "You're _naked_."

She looked down at herself as though she'd completely forgotten her state of undress.

"Ah, I am." A smirk. "I assume you'd like me to remedy this?"

"It would be preferred! Especially since you didn't bother to mention _he's_ here!"

She gave him a knowing, mischievous look. Vexation filled him as he narrowed his eyes.

The look that meant she was about to give him hell.

He ground his teeth.

Slipping back into the cabin she began to rummage through their pile of garments for something to cover herself with. Lucien was about to think she'd do as she was asked when she procured his jade doublet from the floor. She slipped into it, wrapping the mass around her, long legs and freckled shoulders still visible. "Better?"

Not better. Not remotely an improvement.

Vaerek knew that particular piece of clothing, the same one he'd worn the night she'd claimed him and that he'd been conned into wearing every time he'd seen her since.

He was far too inebriated to spar, to even dodge the swift blows he suspected the first mate would throw at him. Too naked.

Twenty steps.

He should have sent Bron.

Not that it mattered any longer, his presence here was no secret now.

Ten.

Lucien couldn't hide the shame as he dove under the covers, hoping the human male wouldn't venture beyond the doorway. The sound of Tamlin's laugh echoed in his mind, the laugh that had chased him aboard the Siren as he'd bid Spring Court farewell.

He'd postponed this meeting for months specifically for this reason, having left Fallon to direct most of the funds and efforts herself until he was absolutely needed-

"Here," he heard Vaerek gripe at Fallon, his deep voice rough, "anything else?"

"Nope, this is perfect. Thanks!"

A heavy, awkward pause, then the slow retreat of footsteps.

Lucien felt himself deflate, perhaps he could winnow from the ship to avoid any confrontation. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd teleported himself out of a questionable situation, favoring the humiliation of arriving at the manor naked to the encounter he was about to face.

Tamlin would laugh himself hoarse but it would be preferable to this.

A pause.

"I know you're in that bed, Lucien." A snort. "At least have the balls to look me in the eye and not cower beneath the sheets."

Ouch.

Fallon barked a laugh, the sound high and trilling. He pulled the covers tighter over himself and groaned, rubbing his aching head. He hated her.

* * *

The night air hung heavy with moisture as the chilling breeze foretelling the end of summer danced around them. The leaves on the trees were a crisp green and the stars flickered above them in a thick blanket of darkness.

It would have been serene, nearly romantic had it not been for the shouts of angry men echoing behind them as they raced through the wooded underbrush, arrows whizzing overhead.

Cursing, Gandriel dug his heels into Beau's side, driving the horse faster as he threw up as wall of hard air, deflecting the array of projectiles flying towards them.

"I thought you said you had it under control!"

"It _was_ under control!" Anelisse hissed as she jostled in front of him, the elaborate hairpins in her curls digging painfully into his chest as she turned to peer behind them, only to immediately wheel in her seat to avoid a soaring arrow that nearly nicked her nose. "It was fine until your bossy fae bullshit felt the need to intervene!"

"He was going to kill you!" Gandriel snarled, veering Beau towards the left, deeper into the wooded path, down the rocky slope— "Forgive me for not wanting you to be murdered!"

The horse took the array of rocks quickly, sliding and stumbling as they fled the slavers behind them, their own mounts skidding down after them. Celeste was going to be absolutely pissed. Hadn't she told them to, under no circumstances, do this?

It was supposed to be a nice little stroll through the woods, some convincing acting, a little sleight of hand-

"I was fully intending to slit his throat!" Anelisse slammed her fist into his leg, irritation marring her features before she squeaked and clung to his arm as they plummeted down a particularly steep outcrop, Beau snorting his fear beneath them.

Gandriel was going to have to apologize to the poor animal after this, perhaps purchase him another large bag of sweet feed and pressed sugar cubes for his trouble-

An arrow embedded itself into the tree right next to Gandriel's head.

 _"¡Mierda!"_

The slavers had been about to slice Anelisse to bits when he'd finally entered the warehouse to intervene, his instincts driving him to find her. He should have never agreed to let her seduce her way into an auction of all places, dressed in that ridiculous white getup that barely covered her.

He going to kill Ithaca for giving her ideas.

And Celeste was going to kill him for letting her even attempt it.

The blonde had been spewing since he'd thrown her over a shoulder and fled, slamming the building down on the bulk of the slavers during their escape with his storm magic. The few that remained were now tailing them.

This was meant to be a reconnaissance mission only, to snag a few stragglers and interrogate them about the new, changing routes.

Not to wipe out an entire nest of them.

"Keep Beau steady!" He felt Anelisse fish around in her dress, her hands tugging at her bodice and in her brassiere-

"Now really isn't the time to be adjusting your ladies," he hissed as he tried to keep them both in the saddle, their bodies bouncing as they came crashing down the steep incline. He'd ridden horses all his life, trained by the best riders Montessere had to offer.

But they hadn't trained him for this, for fleeing. No, it'd been nice gentle trail rides with lovely views atop surefooted fae steeds, not a downward plummet to the forest floor, completely at the mercy of a round, well-fed farm horse.

They bounced as they hit the bottom, Beau reeling off to the right, headed for the rendezvous point. That was if they could get there before the men tailing them caught up-

"You're an imbecile," she shot back, pulling what appeared to be a small vial free in her hands as she glanced behind them. "I'd throw up a wall of wind if I were you."

"Anelisse—"

She threw the vial. He watched it soar overhead before it disappeared out of sight. He rallied his magic, diving deep before snapping a thick wall of air into place behind them as a cascade of flames flared wide, the heat scorching the hair on his neck.

"Holy Mother," he gaped at the small blonde as Beau snorted and raced faster, fleeing the growing heat behind him. "What in the actual fiery pits of hell was that?!"

"A new concoction I've been working on," she shouted over the din, her lips puckered in irritation as she glared at the flames behind her. "Blast it all! It's not as powerful as I'd hoped!"

"Not as powerful?" He looked behind him in bewilderment, the trees aflame as the riders tailing them cursed and maneuvered to find another path.

Inconceivable. He knew she had been working on other things at that painting stall of hers besides spying and painting painfully awkward nude portraits of men. He hadn't realized she'd picked up a hobby in explosives.

The pursuing men had found a way around, quite efficiently Gandriel internally grumbled, as he heard them gaining on them, their shouts of fury resounding throughout the wood.

Anelisse scowled.

"I'd ask you to strike them with lightning, but we know how well that went last time."

He flinched.

Celeste's hair had stood on end for an entire week. She'd never let him practice near anything metal again.

"We're almost to the hollow," he nudged Beau once more, willing the gelding forward-two bags of sweet feed and some apples too- "we've only got to stay ahead awhile longer."

"Perhaps we'd move faster if we lost some weight." A conspicuous nod at Gandriel. The male squawked his offense.

"I'm not the one who's been gorging myself on pastries!"

"Perhaps its all that arrogance that's bouncing around that head of yours—"

Gandriel felt the air pressure change as they swept into the hollow valley, his magic tinging as the sigils he'd drawn before his departure flared to life. With a loud crack, the boulders shouldering the valley came tumbling free in a torrent. The slavers cried their surprise as they raced to avoid the fatal falling rocks. Gandriel yanked at Beau's reins sending the horse into a skid as he came to a shuddering stop.

The boulders stopped with a rumble, a cloud of loose dust rising in their wake, barricading all escape from the dead end.

Atleast he'd gotten them here. Even if it was about a dozen more than originally planned.

Whipping Beau around, Gandriel tugged Anelisse close to him, releasing the blade from his scabbard. Twenty men still stood before him, furious as they raised their weapons in turn.

Well, it was better than the initial fifty or so they'd started with.

"Gentlemen," Gandriel cooed with a smile, allowing that arrogant façade he'd mockingly perfected over years to roll into place, "it's been a delight, but I must bid thee farewell." He bowed briefly before a bow twanged and a single arrow struck the ground before the men, sizzling.

"What is this nonsense, boy?" A laugh from one of the men who gave a smile filled with gaps, his dirty face creasing with amusement, "You're going to pay, you and that little whore—"

The fuse connected to the arrow and attached vial burned low before exploding with a loud pop, sending a screen of smoke billowing in all directions. Shouts of alarm rose from the slavers as they scrambled to see in the murk.

The trees creaked as a horde of masked men dressed in black dropped from the overhanging oaks, the sounds of blades clashing through the woods as the skirmish ended before it even began.

A figure in black leather materialized from smoke, like a wraith of shadow, a long blade loose in her hand as she stormed towards Gandriel. The male flinched as he watched Celeste peel off her mask, violet eyes burning in irritation as she flicked blood from her blade.

Her narrow, thin face had filled out in the months since taking her Captainship, her thin waist and legs now lean with muscle and womanly appeal.

And deadly strength.

Gandriel half considered tossing Anelisse in front of him to buy him some time to flee up the cliffsides, and since he still hadn't perfected winnowing-

"What the hell did you two do?"

"Uh . . . improvised?"

He almost slapped a hand over Anelisse's mouth. Wrong answer—

A growl.

"How much attention did you attract?"

"Just a little—" It really hadn't been that much—

"Gandriel brought the building down around their heads."

"YOU threw a bomb at them and caught half the woods on fire!"

"it wouldn't have been necessary if you hadn't intervened—"

"Because you thought seducing the sadistic bastard was a BRILLIANT idea—"

"I had him where I wanted him, a minute more and he would have been dead—"

"You did what?" Celeste's voice cut into the argument, her eyes locking on Anelisse. The blonde puffed her cheeks in agitation.

"I had it under control."

" _Obviously not_." No room for argument.

Celeste turned that razor-sharp glare back to Gandriel, sending shivers up his spine.

"Who?"

"Dermot's first mate," Celeste snapped her attention back to Anelisse, "he had the information on the changed trade routes, since his Captain's taken the lead on this whole fiasco."

Celeste crossed her arms over her chest as she looked between them, agitation written across that beautiful face before her shoulders slumped and she blew out a breath.

"Did you get any information?"

Gandriel sheepishly shook his head, he'd been too busy fighting and trying to keep himself and Anelisse alive.

"Of course not." She sheathed her blade down her spine, tugging down her hood and releasing her thick braid. "Did you at least get Eoin out?"

Oops. Gandriel had completely forgotten about the young fisherman-turned-scout who'd gone as bait so they could gain access to the auction—

Celeste groaned again, rubbing her temples with gloved fingers.

"We need to go back and grab him." No doubt the slippery young man was still alive, having either sweet talked his way into getting loose or having escaped on his own. He had been surprisingly convincingly dressed as a woman when he'd dragged him into that auction, fluttering his eyelashes and all—

"At least you got some of them here."

Celeste whistled over a shoulder towards her crew behind her, the men having subdued the remaining slavers. "Leave them alive for questioning," an assessing stare at the remaining ones before she gave a wicked grin, "Any that don't talk are to be left for me."

She pulled a knife free from her belt, playing with the razor-sharp blade as the bound men paled.

"And you," She pointed the knife at Gandriel and Anelisse, "You're both on latrine duty until I say otherwise."

The thought had Gandriel gagging, of all the nasty things Celeste wanted to punish him with. He would have rather been put on runner duty, cooking, anything except cleaning out the nasty buckets on the Loreley—

Anelisse elbowed him harshly in the stomach. "This is all your fault."

* * *

They'd found Eoin easily enough, sitting on a barrel drinking ale with a set of guards telling lewd stories with his skirt hiked up to his hip, hairy legs on display. He had indeed made friends with the men who'd been watching him and the other slaves, a couple of young, poor boys who were only looking to make a copper. He'd somehow managed to convince them to let the captive young women go.

They'd quickly taken to Eoin's kind, infectious personality and even faster to Celeste's offer of a paycheck.

It was amazing what a few underhanded threats and some silver could do for her. She'd bought out nearly a hundred underlings of the slave trade alone into working for her. Most of them had become reliable, loyal spies.

There had been a handful they'd had to dispose of, but, on the whole, they'd been useful. Especially since she never let any of them see her face so they never knew where she might be lurking, watching their every movement.

A little fear never hurt anyone.

The dreaded and renowned flower of the sea, Captain Lily, Fallon had mockingly called her, laughing as they'd shared a bottle of wine the last time they'd met.

She'd taken the alias on after her little lie to Rufus and decided it would serve its purpose in keeping her real identify hidden.

Not that Gandriel or Anelisse had bothered with such lies, shrugging their shoulders when asked and questioning to why they should bother. Celeste hadn't even tried arguing about it.

Ascending the stairs to their new, larger shared apartment, Celeste nearly stopped and turned back when the first loud, pleasured moan echoed from Anelisse's bedroom. Warm, disgusting, fresh scents wafted on evening breeze from the open window.

Well, she and Gandriel had certainly beaten her back here.

When had that even become a thing between them?

One day they'd been sniping at each other and the next Gandriel had his face, and other bits, buried deep inside her, worshipping the very ground her sister walked on.

Celeste had inquired about the situation one afternoon shortly after she'd caught them . . . fornicating in her bed on the Loreley. Anelisse had laughed and given the simple response of, "He's wonderful when he's using his mouth for things other than talking."

Celeste had left it alone at that.

A growling bark of pleasure from Gandriel rang out in the night. Couldn't they at least shut the window, pretend they weren't sharing more than just a few choice words? She could head back to the market, find herself something for dinner, a nice inn to stay at—

Celeste sighed. She was too tired to trek back, and frankly she wanted her own bed and bath tonight. If they got too bad, she'd sic Ithaca on them.

Speaking of said woman, Celeste caught sight of her as she opened the door to the apartment, poised on the couch reading a yellowed text. The dark-tressed woman looked all the world like a queen holding court, oblivious to the racket in the room down the hallway.

"Oh look," Celeste knocked her boots against the door, freeing them of the caked mud, "you're here."

Ithaca glanced up from the ancient book in her lap, onyx eyes narrowing. "You did say I was permitted to enter as long as I did not bother anything."

"I did." She'd felt sorry for the woman after the third week of her lurking on the doorstep, hoping inviting her in and making peace might send her on way. It'd had the opposite effect, she'd instead made herself quite at home. "I'm just surprised to see you here with them." She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at the bedroom.

"Sex is as natural to breathing to me," she smoothed a black curl behind an ear, "it serves as background noise while I read."

Celeste didn't bother to mention it certainly wasn't her background noise of choice.

"How did the hunting go?"

"Terribly. Gandriel's an invalid and Anelisse can't keep it in her pants." She nodded toward the noisy room. She flopped down on the couch next to the woman, stretching her feet out and extending her arms high above her head. "We got the information we needed, burnt down half of Green Hollow in the process though, they should probably call it Black Hollow now."

"The hellfire recipe worked then. Interesting,"

Celeste sent Ithaca a skeptical look. The woman only smirked, rolling her narrow shoulders.

"Your sister was experimenting, I only gave her a little guidance."

"At what price?" Celeste leaned forward, reaching for the invisible tether inside of her. Ithaca had been angling to make a bargain since she'd bound her, and she'd had to send a series of orders down the chain to prevent her from finding a loophole.

"Consider it a sign of goodwill." A gleaming smile.

Ah, so that was the game she was playing this evening.

"I'm still not letting you go." Celeste rose from the couch, ignoring the hiss that tore from the sharp-featured woman and echoed throughout the apartment as she made for the kitchen, "I'll give you credit for the effort though."

"If don't remove this vile charm from me, girl—"

"You'll sit on my couch and complain until Hell freezes over? Be my guest."

"You must find yourself so amusing with your witty remarks."

A shrug.

"Fine," Ithaca snarled and turned back to her book, "Do as you wish."

"I was intending to."

Celeste slipped into the kitchen and began rummaging through the chilled-box Gandriel bought to keep food from spoiling, not that there was much food to be found. A few half-rotted apples and a stale piece of bread.

They'd only been back in Marchedor for a few days, compiling information from informants before venturing back out to sea to meet with Fallon to deliver the new trade information. She'd decided to postpone the meeting until Fallon's unnamed guest departed, some male that she'd gotten the impression that her fellow captain was sweet on.

Celeste had dealt with enough copulation from her sister and first mate, she didn't need to witness the sea captain in action too. Another, higher, more delighted squeal echoed throughout the apartment. She shoved the empty ice box closed.

She was getting dinner in the market.


	45. Book 2: Chapter 2: The Wilderness

_Plick. Plick. Plick._

Cenric rolled onto his left side and tugged the blankets closer around him, ignoring the continuous drone of dripping rain, the rhythm as sure as any metronome. Crisp, humid morning air wafted around him, carrying the scents of fresh spring grasses and loamy soil as the sounds of milling wildlife echoed quietly in the distance.

This place was peaceful, teeming with life and far from the reaches of his home.

The harsh winter that had encapsulated the forest had rapidly given way to encroaching spring, the frozen wasteland thawing as life bloomed in its place. He'd never realized how out of touch with nature he'd been before coming here, when he'd spent all his time in his cozy, soft, _dry_ room in Velaris.

 _Plick._

This was certainly preferred.

He'd fled here from the Riverside Estate after his infuriating confrontation with his mother, so livid with her stubbornness and coddling that he'd winnowed the first place that came to mind, the Steppes. He had arrived in a distant corner of the wilderness just as the sun began to set, far from any camps or roads. So remote, in fact, that he hadn't seen a single battalion of guards patrolling.

No, it had only been himself and the silence.

 _Plick._

And this damned rain.

Cenric groaned as the gentle tapping increased in tempo, the rain beginning to come down in a heavy torrent, creeping through the small hole in the canvas roof of his tent. The newest hole he'd yet to patch.

And since he flatly refused to use his powers, simply on principle . . .

Sighing, he rolled from his cot and shuffled toward the leak and the nearly full bucket beneath it, watching the water ripple as each new drop hit the surface.

He realized he felt a bit like his tent, mostly intact but filled with little wounds, ones that left messes when the weather turned sour. Messes that had nearly cost the lives of those around him.

He'd heard nothing about Valka since the news that she'd disappeared without a trace from the camp soon after healing. The notion had left him uneasy. Where had she gone? And why hadn't she left at least a message of some kind?

A simple note of "I'm frolicking off to nowhere, please write!" would have sufficed. He'd earned that much respect and friendship from her . . . hadn't he? He shook his head.

He hadn't made any attempt to inform her of his little disappearing act either. Fiddling with the sleeve of his tunic, he felt a blush creep up his cheeks as he thought on the female, on her bright silvery eyes and long tapered waist—he shut the thoughts down immediately, cursing his own male feelings. She owned him no explanation.

But to just disappear . . .

The Rite was over and from what he had gathered the rebellion over with it, peace having been finally restored. Why, then, had she left?

He toyed with the thought as he released his sleeve and instead hefted the bucket up, water sloshing, and strode towards the canvas flap. Perhaps she'd fled after the majority of her clan had been eradicated, waiting for the storm to blow over before returning.

Mother knew his Court held no harsh feelings towards her after her help, that there were no divides in her loyalty. No doubt Nesta was likely searching for the female at that moment, trying to pin down where she'd run off.

Maybe he'd travel to a nearby camp and see if any news had surfaced. It wouldn't hurt to look.

Throwing his tent flap back he tossed out the bucket onto the ground only to have the water immediately deflected in all directions, the droplets sizzling against an invisible, hastily formed shield. He lowered the bucket and narrowed his eyes at the dark leathers and broad wings before him.

"What do you want, Dad?"

Rhys peered curiously at him, violet eyes twinkling in amusement as he took in Cenric's tent, the same look he'd given it the last dozen times he'd managed to find him after he'd moved his camp. He'd stopped trying to be subtle about changing locations, it had done him no good in avoiding his father.

He had found him almost immediately after he'd first set up camp, approaching him with a variety of reasons why he should come home and that he was being unreasonable.

Cenric had had none of it.

After being tossed out on his ass after the third time his father had relented on trying to persuade him to come home and had settled for the guise of checking up on him.

"To make sure my son hasn't been eaten by beasts or succumbed to his own lack of hygiene," he wrinkled his nose at Cenric, nodding at the haircut he'd decided to give himself when it had finally gotten too long, "or his new-found barber skills."

"If you're going to stand there and insult me then get the hell out," he pointed toward the forest with his free hand, the bucket limp in the other.

Rhys rose his hands in surrender, nodding at the inside of the tent. Cenric rolled his eyes before stepping to the side to let him enter. His father would only sit outside and make a nuisance of himself if he didn't, and Cenric didn't particularly want any worse of a headache than the one he already had.

Trailing after, he watched as his father quirked a brow at the dripping hole and sent a questioning glance back at Cenric. He only stared back, his face hard.

Rhys shook his head before lowering himself onto the makeshift stool made from a tree trunk at the base of Cenric's cot, tucking his wings in close behind him.

"I see you've found a new spot to camp," he glanced around the tent, a small smirk forming on his lips, "at least this one isn't on a floodplain."

Annoyance sparked through Cenric as his shoulders tightened. He hadn't stopped to consider where he was setting up camp that time, only that he was actively trying to avoid his father-

"If you'd stop showing up, I wouldn't have to keep moving."

"And not know if my son has been whisked away by the mountain gnomes off to a land of enchantments? Certainly not."

Perhaps he would just chuck his father out to the elements.

"Clearly I haven't been," Cenric turned, making his way to a pile of belongings he kept on the far side of the tent, digging through the stockpile of powders and medicines he'd packed, looking for the one that eased head pain. "So you can go. Send Azriel next time, at least he doesn't insult me."

He'd seen Cassian and Azriel a handful of times since his departure. The former had been even more of nuisance than his father and the latter was less annoying and far less invasive.

Cenric didn't miss the sigh that slipped through his father's lips before his snapped his fingers, various supplies and containers of food appearing on the narrow cot.

His patience flagged.

"I told you I don't need you bringing me supplies," even if the scent of his favorite soup that Nuala made wafted to his nose, "I've made my choice to leave and I would greatly appreciate it if you would respect that. I don't need her attempting to coddle me from a distance."

Cenric wasn't such a fool to believe his father and uncles' various appearances hadn't been directly correlated to his mother trying to check up on him, to try and patch what she'd so easily shattered.

He needed nothing sullied by her hands.

"This isn't from your mother. Elain sent it—she's worried herself sick over you."

"I highly doubt that."

His father rested his head on his hand, watching Cenric knowingly as he continued to rummage through his belongings, even as his head throbbed with each movement. He needed to sleep it off, to ignore it until the edge softened.

"You know you'll drive yourself to madness if you keep avoiding using your magic," Rhys nodded at the dripping hole in the tent, as well as the numerous others he'd attempted to repair by hand. "As much as I commend your attempts at trying to throw away being my heir it's not going to serve any purpose other than making you ill."

"I don't want your damned throne or your blood." He'd been avoiding using magic since he'd sworn off his birthright, even if power prickling beneath his skin was continuously searching for a way out. "Get the hell out and take your supplies with you."

Rhys sighed and straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. "Cenric."

"Don't 'Cenric' me," he griped, "you're wasting your breath."

He'd meant every word of it when he'd sworn off his birthright and he'd be damned if he didn't stand by that. His annoyance was causing power to surge beneath his skin, eroding away the cool barrier of control he'd erected around his emotions to keep his magic from lashing out.

He turned his attention from his father, ignoring him as he stood from the makeshift stool. He grumbled when he heard him move towards his cot instead of out of the tent.

Where was that damned powder?

Perhaps if Elain wanted to send him care packages she could pack him something that he could use to deter his father from coming around. Or better yet, something that would keep his father from continuously finding his camp-

"She loved this book," Cenric whipped his attention to Rhys as he picked up a leather-bound tome from the makeshift bookshelf Cenric had erected beside his cot, his violet eyes softening with memories. "I haven't seen it since you threw it through that window."

He watched as his father flipped through the tome, as well-loved and tattered as it had been the day Celeste had read it all those years ago.

* * *

 _His fingers fumbled with the keys, lacking the grace to bounce between the chords needed for the piece, the sound nearly choked and dissonant as he struggled along, willing the notes to come out the way they were supposed to._

 _Clank. Screech._

 _He groaned, having missed the chord again. If his fingers were just a bit longer-_

 _"Impressive."_

 _Perched on the chair next to the piano, his sister bit into an apple, munching noisily as she flipped through a book illustrated with intricate, detailed sketches of monsters, her wings splayed out behind her as she basked in the sunlight pouring through the high bay window._

 _"I thought you were supposed to be playing music, not just banging on the keys." Another bite, followed by a slurp as she sucked on the juices, watching him with lowered brows. "If I wanted to hear obnoxious noise I'd just go talk to Cassian."_

 _Cenric flushed, sending his sister a glare._

 _"It's not my fault my hands are too small."_

 _"Sounds like an excuse to me."_

 _"I'd like to see you do better!"_

 _"I don't play piano, remember?"_

 _No, she didn't study any instrument for that matter, having refused to learn any when their parents had suggested it. She preferred swordplay and chess, ever the tactician at her mere 7 years, romping about the yard scanning for her next battlefield._

 _Even the vocal and dancing lessons their mother had been able to convince her to try were hard-pressed to keep his sister entertained._

 _She waved her apple at him before tossing upwards and catching it. "Not my fault you picked something you aren't good at."_

 _"That's why I'm practicing!" He gestured wildly at the keys, half tempted to ball up the sheet music and toss it at her head, especially with Nuala and Cerridwen in the kitchen and absent to see the act. "And what are you even doing?" A nod to the book._

 _"Studying monsters and how to tame them," she crunched again, running her free hand over the pages, "can't build an army of beasts if I don't know how to bargain with them."_

 _He raised a single brow at her._

 _And what_ he _was doing was senseless._

 _He rubbed at his eyes, exhaustion settling in. Perhaps he'd practice more later, when a certain someone went to bed and wasn't there to heckle him about what he wasn't good at. He rose to leave when she turned her attention from her book back to him, brow scrunching._

 _"Hey, wait a minute, where are you going?"_

 _"To do something else."_

 _"You're giving up that easily?"_

 _"I'm no good at it," his grumbled at her, grumpiness settling in. "Remember?"_

 _"Wasn't that why you were practicing? Isn't that what you just said?"_

 _He puffed his cheeks in annoyance, she was always throwing what he said back in his face like she knew everything. Sometimes she was such an insufferable know-it-all._

 _He wanted sweets and a walk. Maybe he could take a stroll through the gardens, go find Elaine and see if she'd bake him some cookies before dinner, and sneak him just a few._

 _"Whatever, Celeste. Maybe I'll pick up painting or studying weird, pointless things like you do."_

 _Something like hurt flashed across her face, her features contorting for just a moment as she stared him down. He flinched at the look, bracing himself for fury he'd just unleashed upon himself._

 _Instead she rolled her eyes, slamming her book shut and plopping it into the chair as she rose and strode toward him, her small hands grasping his as she dragged him back to the bench. "Don't be such a baby."_

 _She patted the seat before sliding onto the bench herself, scrunching her nose as she glanced through the music, eyes roving as she tried to decipher it._

 _"What are you doing?" he asked cautiously, awaiting her sarcastic reply. He was not in the mood for her taunting and only wanted to be doing anything else other than looking at the contraption before him._

 _"Waiting on you to sit and teach me, grumpy," she looked over a shoulder at him, head quirked just so, "Mama says the best way to learn something is to teach someone else. So teach." She gestured to the instrument, tapping her foot impatiently against the wood of the bench._

 _"You hate piano."_

 _"Yes," another nod toward the ivory keys, the sunlight reflecting off the buttons on the front of her dress, "but I love you. So show me."_

 _Something warm bloomed in his stomach, a soothing sensation that placated his annoyance with the instrument. That she loved him enough to sit through something she had no interest in . . ._

 _"You're being serious."_

 _"Dead."_

 _Surprise filtered through Cenric at the sudden offer but he said nothing as he immediately slid onto the bench next to her, eager to show her. How long had he been trying to convince her to learn? He'd offered to teach her numerous times in the past and each time she'd declined. She'd told him no so many times he'd given up, and the fact that she had suggested it at all . . ._

 _"Well, are you going to sit there with your mouth hanging open or are you actually going to show me something?"_

 _He immediately slammed his mouth shut, his mind weaving through the various lessons he'd had, the tricks taught to him at the beginning. He internally crafted a lesson plan, since he did know best after all._

 _"Just so you know," he attempted to smooth his hair back, only leaving it more rumpled than usual, before cracking his knuckles, "I'm kind of a pro at this."_

 _Celeste rolled her eyes. "Don't let it go to your head, stupid."_

 _He deflated, though none of the joy left him._

 _"Right."_

* * *

 _He spent hours walking her through what he knew, carefully directing her where to place her hands and to remember words like staccato, crescendo and tempo._

 _She'd nodded her head, surprisingly focused as she followed his lead picking out a tune slowly with her right hand, her brow scrunched as she tapped her foot in time, counting each beat._

Mom and Dad are never going to believe this _, he thought with mirth, swelling with pride that he'd convinced his sister to do something with him that she swore she'd never try._

 _The lesson was winding down as he watched her play, the tempo and tune nearly correct but her wrist still limp, it would be a few more lessons yet but she was getting it. He felt better, his confidence restored in his ability._

 _Stopping her playing Celeste turn her head to him, her gaze unwavering._

 _"Cenric."_

 _"Hmm?" He was wondering if he should start teaching her chords next, or perhaps rig something so that her short legs might reach the pedals . . ._

 _"Don't give up on the things you love so easily." His thoughts halted as his attention snapped to her, the words of wisdom taking him by surprise. She nudged him once before rising, "I'll never tell you this again but you're really good. Don't let anyone say otherwise."_

 _Heat flooded his cheeks as he sheepishly rubbed his head. Approval coming from Celeste was high praise indeed._

 _She pursed her lips, her violet eyes almost becoming distant as she walked back to her book and swept it up into her arms, running her fingers against the spine of the book. "Is it so bad to be strange?"_

 _The pain that had flickered across her face earlier filled Cenric's mind as shame coated him like oil. He'd snipped at her in anger, frustrated with his own shortcomings. He knew his sister struggled to relate to others their own age and his comment had been entirely uncalled for._

 _She peered those doe eyes up at him, a flicker of the loneliness and isolation that she never let anyone else see shimmering there._ You're my only friend _, she'd told him once late in the night when she'd snuck into his room to sleep with him after her a hard first day of lessons with the other children._ You're the only one who understands.

 _It was his job to protect her, to keep that sad look from filling her normally bright and mischievous face, a job he took very seriously. He made a mistake but decided in that moment it wouldn't happen again._

 _He reached a hand out for her, sweeping her into a tight embrace._

 _"No, not at all," he squeezed her once, her own small arms snaking around his waist, "I'm . . . sorry I made you feel that way. You're perfect the way you are."_

 _She nodded her head into his shoulder, some of the tension easing from her wings as she pulled away, her face less hollow. Strolling toward her book she lifted it up and flipped through the pages. "I_ am _weird," she muttered, more to herself than to him, her face growing contemplative._

 _Cenric didn't know how to respond, knowing that'd he'd caused this bit of withdrawal in his sister, stirring up the seclusion she already felt. He was about to get on knees to beg her forgiveness, to try and remove that look from her face when their fathers booming voice echoed through the halls, calling for them._

 _Their family was home._

 _"Celeste—" he wanted to say more, to try and mend the wound he'd unintentionally inflicted. She snapped the book shut again her shoulders straightening as she looked towards the hallway where the sound of their parents' footsteps echoed._

 _"You're right, I am perfect and you should be sorry, Cenric," she turned her attention to him, her mouth quirking in the way that had his hair standing on end at the trouble about to be wrought as all traces of sorrow vanished from her features. "So here's your punishment." She looked towards the large bay windows before smiling ferally and, with all the might her small arms could conjure, hurled the book._

 _It sailed through the panes with a resounding smash, shards of glass flying in every direction. Cenric watched in mute horror as the book tumbled to the riverbank, his mouth agape._

 _She winked at him, then whirled for the doorway._

 _"DAD!" She was already running, her skirts swirling around her legs, "CENRIC THREW MY BOOK OUT THE WINDOW!"_

* * *

Cenric's father flipped through the book with a small smile, the beautifully sketched monsters no doubt peering up at him from the pages. He should know, considering how many times he'd flipped through that book on his own.

Cenric had taken full blame for the window and the lecture that had come with it, though he'd been certain his father had known exactly who had actually chucked the tome through the glass.

To his surprise she'd never said a single thing about feeling weird to him again after it, something he'd once considered a victory, believing she'd finally seen there wasn't anything wrong with her. He'd only discovered years later that hadn't been the case. Instead, she'd taken to burying those thoughts deep inside of her, either deeming him uncaring or untrustworthy enough to share them.

The pain in his head throbbed.

She'd gone so far as to wander in the underground tunnels of Velaris to deal with her thoughts, the only place she'd never permitted him to follow; not that'd he or any of his family had known that was where she'd been wandering off to. No one knew she'd been playing there in the evenings, assuming she'd been spending her time at the little candy shop near their entrance.

It'd been the first place she'd snuck off to after her powers had emerged, after their family had decided keeping her hidden was the only way to keep her safe until they figured out what to do. It had been where they'd taken her.

He watched his father set the book down with reverence, ensuring it was far from the dripping water.

"It's my fault she started wandering in those tunnels," Cenric muttered unprompted as he dug his palms into his eyes, the memories swirling. "I should have followed her, should have kept an eye on her like I promised to."

He should have pressed it, should have followed her regardless of her protests. He could blame the rebels as much as he wanted but he'd been the one who'd failed her.

The power beneath his skin swelled, threatening to boil over.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, a gesture of comfort that halted the rising magic. His father stood next to him, a strong and steady presence.

"I miss her."

"So do I." A gentle squeeze. "It was never your fault, Cenric." He looked up at his father, his violet eyes full of a sorrow that was ancient and deep. A sorrow that only a parent who failed to protect their child might feel.

 _It wasn't yours either._

The holes in the tent above him closed, the tang of magic filling the space as his father sealed them. He was only trying to help as he always did, even if he was an ass about it most of the time.

He'd never really been angry his father. Perhaps he too could be mended like those holes.

Cenric sighed, relenting.

"I'm taking the soup, but only because Elain sent it."

Rhys chortled, nodding his approval.

"As glad as I am that you're accept your poor, worried aunts gift it's not the only reason I'm here."

He quirked a brow in question.

"I know you're still sore about what happened with the Rite-" Cenric cut him a sharp look, preparing a rebuttal against any argument or persuasion he was about to make. Rhys raised a hand to stop him, "let me finish first."

He closed his mouth, listening.

"Regardless of what the Camp Lords said as far as I, Cassian and Azriel are concerned you passed the Rite," he nodded towards the pile of hastily draw sketches he'd created and left out on the floor, sketches of lilies entwined with the Illyrian symbols that he hadn't bothered to hide from his father, "and shouldn't be denied the honor of the tattoos. If you're willing, we want to give them to you. They are rightfully yours."

Surprise flitted through Cenric at the prospect, having come to terms with the bitter truth that he would never receive the markings he'd so desperately wanted in honor of his sister. And even though he hadn't won them in the eyes of the camp lords his father and uncles had seen his merit. The only opinions that had every mattered in the whole mess anyway. And since they were offering…

"When?" He said it with a bit more excitement than intended. He tried to school his features into neutrality.

Rhys smiled knowingly. "Whenever you're ready."

"Now," he locked gazes with his father, accomplishment beginning to bloom in his chest, "I want them now."

His father gave another small laugh.

"Good thing I already sent Cassian and Azriel to gather the supplies then, I told them to meet us here at sundown."


	46. Book 2: Chapter 3: Of Lilies and Wings

"Deep breath."

The needle pierced his skin, the biting sting of salt in the ink burning through Cenric as he released a controlled breath and fisted his hands beside him. The pain felt good, felt right. He remained motionless as the needle rose and dove into his flesh again and again, each prick a validation of what he had faced and what he had overcome.

Every stinging jab was a reminder of all that was lost and what remained to be gained.

It was the pain that he savored as he told her stories, the ones they all remembered and the ones that only the two of them had shared in, the bond that only two siblings as close as they had been might have known.

He told the stories of their joys and the stories of their laughter, of the tears they had shared and the bitter sorrows they'd faced. He'd told the story of the first time he'd held her, marveling at her tiny, beautiful wings as his father placed her in his arms, and of the last adventure they'd shared. He whispered the tale of her last words to him and the last time that he'd seen her, the way her eyes had before the fire that she had been was extinguished.

He ground out the guilt that he felt, the blame he wore like a scar, wept over the overwhelming ache of missing a piece so vital.

He didn't miss the scent of tears that had filled the tent as he spoke, the smell of others entwining with his own.

He said nothing of it.

Instead he continued to speak, sorrow and longing lacing every word, every memory that he still held onto so dearly. For she would not return but he would finally be born anew. Sorrow would not rule him any longer, instead he'd continue living, thriving, if only to honor her memory.

Another particularly sharp, satisfying sting raced through him and he smiled, relishing the ache and the relief it brought with it.

It was Azriel who worked above him now, his hands the lightest with the ink. He worked in silence as he carefully drew out the patterns across his shoulders and spine, tapping the needle rapidly as he brought the images to life.

They'd been at this for hours since sundown, his father beginning the process before trading off with Cassian then Azriel who now filled out the finer details. Cassian and his father now kept watch, vigilant as they listened to every word that escaped Cenric's lips.

His family had come to do this for him.

Not for idiotic Illyrian honor or glory, not out of pity, but for him. And for her.

He tried not to dwell on his mother as another searing prick raced down his spine, unwilling to yet acknowledge the fury that remained when he thought of her. She had made her decision and he would stand by his own, even as his father and uncles stood around him in a circle of strength.

"Do you need a break?" His father's voice resonated across the quiet tent, the sound of crickets reverberating in the shadowed wood outside. Cenric hadn't realized how quiet it had become since he'd finished his stories.

"I'm fine," he adjusted his shoulders slightly, pleased with the dull ache that remained there. "Keep going."

"I'm about to start on your spine," a prod at the tender point in the middle of his back, where the needle's prick would be the most painful, "are you certain?"

"Yes," he settled once again onto his cot, burying his face into the sheet beneath him, listening to Azriel as he poured more of the dark liquid into his vials, no doubt mixing in the salt that would set the ink. "I want this finished."

* * *

Rhys watched his brother tap the pigment into his son's spine, his hands careful as he traced out each line with incredible precision. The hours slipped on as the lilies his son had selected blossomed across his skin, intricate swirls twining around them.

Perhaps pride was too weak of a word for what he felt.

Cenric had always stirred a sense of honor in him, in knowing that the wonderful boy before him was his offspring, but having watched him through the Rite and how he had grown in the past weeks . . .

No, pride was certainly too weak a word.

Glancing sidelong, he took in the form of his brother leaning casually against one of the poles of the tent, Cassian's face was shadowed but failed to hide the redness of his eyes from the tears he'd unashamedly shed as Cenric spoke. The salty brine that had filled the tent as the words and stories of Celeste flowed from his lips, his whole reason for even getting involved in this mess.

Rhys doubted his own were much better.

The only one who hadn't shed tears was Azriel, stone-faced and impenetrable as always, wholly focused on the needle and ink beneath his hands.

Feeling his gaze, Cassian glanced up and nodded, no sign of his usual shit-eating grin to be seen. This had been the right choice. His brother been adamant about giving Cenric the tattoos, refusing to acknowledge the bullshit claim that he hadn't earned them.

Rhys had agreed wholeheartedly. There had never been a doubt in his mind.

His son had earned every last stroke of ink and more. Few would have survived the wounds that had been inflicted on him, even with Feyre's healing blood, and even fewer would have walked away without lingering injury.

He was a force to be reckoned with and he would only grow stronger with time.

Rhys hadn't forgotten about the slim, sharp-featured female who'd pulled through the hellstorm either, even though Valka had been missing for months now. Nesta's search had been almost frenzied as she tore apart the Steppes trying to find her.

It left Rhys troubled, even more so with his son deeming it necessary to advertise his discontent by squatting in the woods like some hermit with a vendetta. While the rebellion had simmered down to silence something was still wrong, even with the Ironwood clan all but eradicated.

They'd found nothing, no clipped wings, no propaganda, not even the barest hint of unease, as though the whole thing had simply been erased.

 _He's taking it well_ , a voice in his chimed softly in his thoughts, sending his very soul purring as her presence filled him. Feyre's mind pulled close, no doubt watching the inking across Cenric's back through his eyes. His mate had been a mess since their son's departure.

 _Are you surprised?_ he cooed back, prodding gently at her presence, wrapping around the light and life that was his mate. Even if they had agreed that she wouldn't spy on this.

She paused.

 _He's lost weight._

 _That's what happens when you live off gopher balls and shrew tails for months._

 _Rhysand._

 _It's true._

He felt her irritation seeping, as though she'd throw a filthy gesture his way and make off before she stopped, contemplating as she watched their son.

 _He hasn't been using his magic._

 _No, but he's found a newfound passion for hair styling,_ he replied, unable to suppress his amusement. _I think he has a bright career ahead of him since he's sworn off being heir._

Cassian had nearly laughed himself hoarse when he'd seen Cenric's jagged haircut, biting down so hard on his knuckle to try to suppress it that Rhys thought he might snap a tooth. Even Azriel had had to excuse himself briefly to assemble the supplies upon seeing his nephew.

At least he'd managed to convince the boy to sit still while he evened out the worst of the chunks.

 _Prick. You're not even listening._

 _I'm listening, I'm just aware what arrogance and bullheadedness Illyrian blood breeds. He's not going to die from a little malnutrition._

He'd never been terribly worried about his son's fury, knowing what youth and male stubbornness resulted in; he'd seen enough of Cassian's fits in his lifetime to know exactly how they played out. Convincing his mate otherwise had been nearly useless, however.

 _It will drive him mad if he doesn't use it._

 _Or he'll sneeze one day and blow the top off a mountain,_ Rhys countered, trying to soothe the panic, though he saw the validity in it.

Feyre grew quiet before inquiring almost sheepishly, _Did he at least take the soup?_

 _Under the pretense that it was from Elain._

Which it hadn't been, not that his son needed to know that little detail. Elain had served as a wonderful scapegoat for the various things that Feyre kept sending to Cenric, trying to figure out how to mend that gap that had formed.

He felt his mate deflate, her magic swirling in bright, wispy waves. He'd never grow tired of her company, of the way she soothed the worst parts of him and bled light into the darkness.

 _I wish he would speak to me._

Rhys wrapped his magic around her, sending soothing shadows to embrace her.

 _He will, give him time to sort things out his way._

 _I hope you're right._

 _I'm always right, and also incredibly handsome. Lucky you._

A zap of sharp energy flared through him that made him jump, earning a questioning look from Cassian.

 _Prick._

* * *

It was the wings he saw first, the sharp curved lines spread in fine black bands just where they would have sat had he been born with them, where they had spread, broad and proud, from his sister's back, rendered with a talon at their apex curving just over the tops of his shoulders. The stylized lines flowed low down his back, bleeding at the bottom into Illyrian curls and vines blooming with night lilies and adorned with stars.

Azriel had done a magnificent job.

Cenric turned the mirror in his hand and twisted to see the reflection in the glass behind him, soaking in the way the tattoo looked, the rightness of the swirling design. He knew he'd be sore for a while but it was something he looked forward to.

"Thank you," he said to Azriel as he handed him back the small hand mirror he'd been using. His uncle only nodded, taking the glass from him.

"You sure you want to give that back to Az?" Cassian's voice had immediately returned after the tattoo had been finished, full of cheeky snark. "You might want to keep it for the next time you decide to give yourself a haircut."

Cenric only rolled his eyes before reaching for his shirt and tugging it deftly over his head, hissing as the fabric slid over his raw back, deciding the comment wasn't worthy of a response.

His father apparently didn't feel the same.

"Brave words coming from the male who sliced his favorite part open while trying to prune for that female in the Greenhill camp years ago. What was her name? Arin?"

"Adalia," Azriel corrected, beginning to pack up the supplies.

Cassian barked a laugh.

"Hey, at least I was willing to try it, fortunately we all know Nesta prefers—"

"Do. _Not._ Finish that sentence." Cenric held up a single finger, cutting his uncle off with a grimace. There were some things that were better left unsaid; better left unthought of.

"Embarrassed, Cenric?" Cassian's mouth broke out in a wide grin, he'd always relished mortifying his nephew. "I'm surprised you're not more accustomed to it with your parents always going at it like bunnies."

Oh, he was accustomed to it and had seen enough of it to last a lifetime, but it didn't mean he wanted to discuss such things, especially not with them. He cut his father a long-suffering look, willing him to cease his uncle's rambling. Rhys only shrugged unashamedly.

"What can I say? Your mother is beautiful, and you wouldn't be here if not for it."

Cenric couldn't help the heat that flared to his cheeks, of all the mental images he had no need for . . .

"Besides," Cassian goaded, locking eyes on Azriel's turned back, "we all know Elain's got her preferences too, huh Az?"

"She prefers that she can actually find it if that's what you're asking."

Cenric choked as Rhys hid his mouth behind his hand, spluttering and failing to hide the escaping laughter.

"Oh, somebody's feisty tonight," Cassian grinned, tilting his head. "Got anything else up your sleeve?"

Azriel turned back to him, shrugging. "I hope you have a good time in Marchedor tomorrow."

Something sour entered Cassian's eyes at that, his lips down turning in annoyance. "Right, because you're too busy matching tablecloths and napkins to be bothered to go to this emissary meeting."

"You're the one that offered to go."

Cenric blinked.

"What meeting?"

They all turned their attention toward him.

"There is to be a meeting on the continent about the slave trade," his father ran a hand through his hair, pushing the locks back into place. "There's been a lot of commotion surrounding the trade routes since one of the leaders met an unfortunate end, leaving his entire collection of ledgers and maps in our allies' possession."

"Yes, and apparently some vigilante and their crew has managed to take down half of the trade routes in a couple of months." Cassian sucked on a tooth. "Apparently they've shit-wrecked numerous vessels and have freed hundreds of slaves. Good thing too, considering how much coin is being poured out of our coffers to support the effort."

"Who is it?" Cenric inquired, having nearly forgotten about the efforts their Court and Prythian as a whole were giving to try and resolve the crisis.

"No idea," Cassian shook his head, his hair brushing his shoulders, "and I don't care as long as they're getting the job done. Makes life easier when we can just focus on what's happening within our own borders."

"I'm just glad we're making progress, we'd hit a standstill for a while there." Rhys stretched his neck. "Amren was pleased when she got the news."

"Because she wasn't going to have be shipped down to the continent to assist because of it," Cassian grumbled, "Unlike some of us."

"It's a day-long meeting, I think you'll survive."

"And if not, at least the rest of us will have some peace and quiet." Azriel muttered, packing away the last of the needles.

"If I die you'll be one groomsman short."

"Put one of the horses in a suit," Cenric offered, chuckling as he watched his family around him his heart lighter than it had felt in years, "no one will be able to tell the difference."

* * *

Nesta narrowed her eyes as she rose from her crouch, the cool night breeze flowing around her as she squinted down the wooded path, the singing crickets her only company.

There was nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

No trail, no sightings, no clues that could have even hinted to where Valka had gone. And her mother wasn't talking - the green-eyed snake that called herself a lady had only clung desperately to Nesta, begging that she find her missing daughter.

It'd taken all her self-control to not turn her to ash, to not wipe her from existence.

The woman had never had a single mark against her, not a speck of blood marring her soft, feminine hands, nothing . . . even though she'd reared every last male that had egged on the rebellions, had singlehandedly molded each and every one of them. She was too clean.

And with Valka's sudden, unexplained disappearance . . .

Nesta adjusted her dagger at her hip and pulled her cloak close, her eyes searching the darkness. She had to find Valka, to ensure that the female was alive, that she had escaped whatever fallout had come with the collapse of the Ironwood clan.

Where could she have gone?

Stepping back onto the path Nesta began making her way back to the Upper Ridge outpost, towards the milling camp mothers and bright fires that burned like beacons on the far cliffs. Something in the air was wrong, like an undercurrent of decay dancing on the wind's very breath.

She'd felt it for a while now.

At first it had been a tick, a small feeling of off-ness that she couldn't pin down and that she'd shaken away. Now it grew, louder and more pronounced as the days dragged on. Grew denser as peace reoriented itself in the camps and chaos fell away.

Something was hunting, and had been for a very long time.

Nesta walked with calm, calculated steps up the inclined path, her shoulders lax and steps slow, listening as the crickets around her begin to silence, flickering out one by one like doused candles.

She didn't bother to turn as she felt the presence slink behind her, its steps mimicking her own, the gait nearly identical, only keeping her casual pace as mile after mile passed behind her.

It was watching, beginning to shift as it reformed itself, its body lither and smaller now than when it had first begun to track her. It was clever.

She clamped down on the mating bond that strung between her and Cassian, dampening it so it was near silent. She didn't need him putting his bossy, overprotective nose in the middle of this. Only a little further . . .

She feigned exhaustion, stretching her arms above her head and craning her neck before trekking off the path and toward the camp she'd set up outside of the outpost, close enough that she could hear the warriors' revelry fading as they turned in for the night.

Her night was just beginning.

It was unfortunate that the creature thought itself too clever for her as she stepped over the branches she'd laid down hours ago, unfortunate that it couldn't control itself when she sliced her palm and sent droplets splattering to the dirt, forcing it into a state of bloodlust as it surged for her and immediately froze midair, trapped in the markings she'd hidden in her camp.

Turning, Nesta kept her features neutral as she took in the formless, shadowy face, the snarling razor-sharp teeth and blank, gleaming white eyes the only discernible features.

Shadow lurkers.

Beings she'd once bolted from in fear in her first year in the Steppes when they'd tried to eat ancient creatures that fed on the lives of lost wanderers, parasites that hid in every corner of the forest, who missed nothing. She'd made a habit of using them to her advantage since.

"Now that you're here," she murmured slowly, pulling out the vial of heron's blood, salt and crushed antler she'd concocted specifically for this purpose, "you'll answer my questions." She flicked the tiniest droplet of the potion from her finger onto the creature. It howled in agony.

"Yes!" it cried in the voices of the dying, a thousand whispers from all directions and none, keening in pain. "Just no more!"

Nesta's eyes burned like liquid starlight in the moon's glow. "Where is Valka?"


	47. Book 2: Chapter 4: Emissaries

Cassian felt his eyelids beginning to droop, the notebook that he'd brought at the behest of Azriel discarded on the table next to him as he tried and failed to pay attention to the assembly before him. He shifted in the plush armchair, trying to ignore the warm, stuffy air of the grand estate, the home of some human noble whose name he hadn't bothered to remember, doing nothing more than listening. And listening.

They'd been at this for hours.

An array of humans and fae, emissaries and ex-slaves alike, all recounting their stories, experiences, and opinions regarding, well, everything.

He'd been less than engaged. Feeling himself nod off, he immediately jerked himself awake, straightening his form and rubbing discreetly at his eyes.

How long, exactly, was this supposed to go on for?

Adjusting his position around his invisible wings, glamoured for subtlety thanks to Mor, he leaned forward and attempted to listen, mentally sifting through the numerous details that person after person relayed.

Many were stories of heartache and lives lost, and those, at least, had kept Cassian's attention, burning fury consuming him at what these people had faced. It had been the equally elaborate, long-winded, obnoxious delegates providing their monotonous, overly detailed opinions that were driving him to madness.

How many people needed to give the same damn speech that slavery was bad? That they were going to do everything in their power to remedy it?

It wasn't like they were on the front lines fighting smugglers and tracking trading routes, and while their hefty purses were a nice addition to the effort, he didn't want to hear any more pretty speeches from well-bred nobles who would never even bother getting their socks wet.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose in exhaustion.

Cassian had never been a diplomat, or a male of bureaucracy in any capacity for that matter. And this, he noted, contemplating the third cup of complementary wine he'd consumed since the meeting had commenced in the wee morning hours, was the highest level of torture he'd ever had to face.

He was glad for the choice explicit words and rude gesture he'd thrown at Mor when she'd dropped him off in the square of Marchedor before the sun rose with a chipper, "Have fun!" before winking and winnowing off back to Velaris. She'd initially agreed to accompany him to this little function but had conveniently discovered last minute that she was desperately needed to assist Elain with planning the menu for the wedding.

The same wedding that was still months off.

He should have never volunteered to go in Azriel's stead. No, he should have made the goo-goo eyed little bastard go himself. Not that Cassian truly minded: he had never seen Azriel put his own happiness first like this, also putting his own needs aside to focus on the tasks at hand.

And on this rare occasion when he was actually willing to put work aside to do something for himself . . .

No, he'd been glad to give his brother the much-needed break, even if he wanted to drown himself in the oversized fish tank across the room.

To his relief, he had caught sight of a handful of familiar faces, many looking just as worn and near dozing as he felt.

Amongst them, he realized, was Lucien, clothed in a fine white doublet and speaking heatedly with a devilishly beautiful woman with dark red hair flowing from underneath the most ridiculously flamboyant hat he'd ever seen. It even had a jaunty purple plume in it to match.

Lucien had been serving as a delegate from both the Spring and Night Courts, working closely with the human descendants of the late Queen Vassa to supply men and supplies to the efforts of hunting down the leaders of slave trade.

Cassian had heard rumors he'd been working with a fierce demi-fae sea captain who'd somehow shimmied her way up the ranks, leading the vast majority of the vessels that combed through the southern waters seeking slave routes and shutting them down. Apparently, she'd won the favor and affection of many of the current emissaries.

Sensing the attention, Lucien turned his gaze towards Cassian, his remaining eye lighting with recognition before he raised a single hand in greeting. Cassian returned the gesture. Seeing her companion's attention directed elsewhere the woman turned and honed her focus in on Cassian, her plump lips curling into arrogant grin that he knew too well.

She rose from her chair, completely ignoring the noble droning on and leaving Lucien talking mid-sentence. With feline grace, she strode toward Cassian with a swish in her wide hips that would have once had him at attention, begging for her name and affections.

Funny the things being a mated male would do to you.

Especially when her beauty would never best that of his Nesta Archereon, even if his mate had opted to remain in the Steppes still hunting for the missing Valka. The memory of icy eyes as she'd kissed him farewell still burned in his mind.

This woman came a close second though, he noted with no lack of amusement. Especially since he was willing to bet the palpable irritation leaching off Lucien was a direct product of her.

He watched as she stopped before him, quirking her head to the side and giving him an appreciative once over. He failed to contain the laugh.

"Can I help you, sweetheart?"

"Well, well, aren't you handsome?" The woman, no, female he noted from the subtly pointed ear that escaped her hair and hat, cooed as she strode closer. Her dark shirt was a plunging v that was tucked into an equally tight-laced corset that left little to the imagination. "Why didn't you tell me your friend was so handsome, Lucien? We should have asked him to join us for our little romp this morning."

Lucien flushed red up to his ears, spluttering as he gave the female a look of disbelief, his scent saturating with embarrassment. The fox fumbled to regain his composure.

"Forgive her, Cassian," he sent his companion a long-suffering look, his metal eye whirring, "she lacks house training." She tossed Lucien a crude gesture that nearly had Cassian spitting out his wine.

He decided he liked her instantly as she flashed him an impish smile.

He offered his hand out towards her.

"A pleasure to meet you . . . ?" he paused, not knowing her name.

"The name's Fallon," she grabbed his hand in her own, shaking it fiercely, "Captain of the Siren and leader of the ground forces hitting this mess head on. You're one of the emissaries from Night Court, I presume?"

"I am."

She nodded her head approvingly, the plume in her oversized hat bouncing.

So, this was the infamous sea captain Beron's youngest son had been keeping company. Surprisingly young, Cassian noted with amusement as she flopped in the chair adjacent from him, her long legs propped over the cushion of the arm as she poured herself a glass of wine from his decanter. And . . . fiery.

"Good," she chirped, swallowing the cupful of wine in one swig and pouring herself more, "the more attractive men the better."

"Mother save me," Lucien muttered beneath his breath, taking the chair to her right and looking primed to bolt at any moment. He sighed and met Cassian's gaze. "Fallon's been serving as Captain of the Siren for over a decade now; the best informants and sailors work under her banner."

A decade? The female barely looked to be in her late twenties at the oldest even by fae standards, and her youthful aura was anything but hardened sea fairer.

"Of course they do," she snipped, swirling her wine as she directed her attention back towards the crowd, awaiting the next speaker. "There's a reason I'm leading this little expedition and not some fat-nosed noble who can't get his ass out of his chair."

"So you're in charge of the group that's been knocking the slavers around then?" Cassian would be lying if he didn't admit he was at least a bit curious about the unnamed vigilante who was making their work significantly easier. He glanced around, searching. "Where are they?"

"Oh certainly, they're quite close friends," she winked, "though it was my excellent taste and skill that's ensured they've been so successful. They deemed that coming today would be counterproductive since they do wish to remain unnamed. Alas, I'll just have to take the credit for them." She winked and sipped from her glass again.

Disappointment prodded at Cassian as his eyes stopped roving over the room, halfway hoping he'd catch a glimpse of the unknown heroes. But he understood, what use was being anonymous if you willingly gave your identity away to just anyone?

"She's very modest, as you can see," Lucien muttered, also pivoting his attention to the center of the room, "the most humble female I know."

"I'm so glad you recognize my virtues," Fallon replied, smirking coyly, "it's important for a lap dog to pay extra close attention to his master."

"Fallon." Lucien ground out, nearly snarling.

Cassian huffed, oh, he certainly liked her. He watched her pick at a loose piece of lint on her blouse near that lovely line that ran through her ample bust-

"If I have to listen to one more oosey-goosey noble spout nonsense like some war veteran I'm going to puke." She took another long swig from her wine, nearly downing the entire second glass.

Cassian lifted a single brow.

Feeling his attention, she swiveled her back to him, her hazel-green eyes shimmering as they fixed on him and her voice dropped to a seductive purr. "Of course, the three of us could always go find something else to do if you're interested."

A jolt like lightning raced through him, hot and splicing in the way that made his senses hone in wholly on the female before him. It coursed through him like a pull, an insatiable call that had him want to peel off every bit of clothing on her body off slowly.

She grinned at him in a way that made his instincts howl, begging for release, all remnants of his mating bond suddenly forgotten-

"Fallon," Lucien interrupted, russet eye narrowing, "he's mated."

The sensation immediately eased, the molten desire evaporating and leaving a hollow, empty space in its wake. Cassian blinked in surprise as the mating bond reappeared and strung tight between him and Nesta once more.

"Oh, I hadn't realized," she smiled before finishing off her glass of wine, "lucky female though." She winked once more before hopping upright and snatching Cassian's glass of wine from between his limp fingers.

He didn't even protest.

"Was a pleasure though, Cassian," Fallon threw his remaining wine back and swallowed before she set the empty glass back in his hand. "I'm sure I'll see you around. And you," she pursed her lips at the son of Autumn, "I'll definitely see later." And with that she sauntered off, disappearing behind the crowd and out one of the side doors leading to the estate's gardens.

Cassian was floored.

"What was that?" he ground out, surprise and shame filling him as he realized what he'd almost agreed to, what he would have happily done to that female, and the way she'd blotted out the mating bond like it had never existed.

"She does that," Lucien grumbled, adjusting his position and dusting off his trousers, "once you're in her throe it's impossible to get out."

"No kidding," Cassian rubbed awkwardly at his neck.

Lucien paused, contemplating what he would say next, as though he did not know how to broach the subject. Cassian poured himself the remaining wine in the decanter.

"I hear the wedding is finally going to take place." He looked almost melancholic as he watched the milling crowd before them, even as he kept his tone neutral. ". . . I'm happy for her and for the shadowsinger, truly. Please send them both my best wishes."

"I will." Cassian didn't even bother to try and tell him that Elain was intending to invite him to ceremony, he knew the male would not attend. And knew that Azriel and Elain would both be grateful for it, even if they would never say as much.

"Congratulations are also in order for your nephew, I heard the rebellions finally died down and that Cenric survived the Rite."

"He most certainly did," Cassian smiled as he reflected on the night before, thinking of the tattoos they'd all given Cenric, the stories the boy had openly shared that had left him and Rhys sobbing messes. "He more than passed it."

"It is not surprising; his skill was remarkable when I saw him last spring. He'll fill the role of High Lord well one day."

If he ever decides to stop sulking in the mountains, Cassian internally grumbled, thinking on his nephew's protest against his mother. It was nothing but a big hulking pile of shit and drama that he absolutely refused to get himself involved in.

Lucien adjusted the blade at his hip.

"Send my regards to Feyre also, I hope that this resolution brings her some peace of mind, finally."

Cassian hadn't forgotten that Lucien had helped in the hunt for Celeste in those critical days when she'd first gone missing, had scaled mountain and meadow to try and find her. And when they didn't . . . he'd offered everything in his arsenal to try and help Feyre heal, to cope with what she'd lost. What'd they'd all lost.

He'd forever been thankful for what Lucien had offered her during that time. Even if he'd once considered the fox a crafty bastard. But now . . . he was family too. Almost.

Perhaps he'd grab an extra tube of one those damned rare pigmented paints that Azriel had requested he purchase and say it was from Lucien when he brought them back to Feyre. And since his brother had even provided him with such a nice succinct little shopping list and directions where to find them on Elain's floral stationary . . .

He snorted.

Azriel was becoming domestic.

"Ah, here's some of the ex-slaves who escaped from Vanica." Lucien nodded to a pretty blonde-haired human woman who held the hands of two small children, making her way through the densely packed crowd.

"Vanica?" Cassian had never heard of it, had never even noticed it on the numerous maps he'd studied while making tactical plans for the men they'd provided to the slave hunt. He didn't know the human territory as well as he did the fae but he should have at least recognized the name.

"Tiny fishing island in the human lands, had less than a thousand citizens, wasn't really worth noting and even more rarely was it mapped. I'd never heard of it until Fallon mentioned it."

"Had?" Something in him already knew what the answer would be.

Lucien's russet eye turned icy. "The town was entirely wiped out by slavers, sold out by the son of the only wealthy family on the island. Less than a hundred of the citizens remain." He nodded toward the round-faced little girl who stood in the certain of the room now, her green eyes uncertain, her stature so much like how Cassian remembered Celeste's being, "This family is one of the few that made it out."

Rage consumed Cassian as he sat forward, his attention directed towards the child who was about to speak, her dark hair smoothed into a half ponytail, the rest of the locks trailing down her back. The same way Celeste used to wear hers.

He watched as the blonde woman, likely the childrens' mother, nodded her head, encouraging her to speak. Squaring her shoulders, the little girl clasped her hands in front of her and took a deep breath.

"My name is Marrien and I used to live on an island called Vanica . . ." she fiddled with her fingers, trying to avoid all the eyes that locked onto her, nervousness taking her as silence engulfed the room. "I want to tell you the story of how I was saved."

* * *

"Well," Gandriel cooed, wrapping the pink feather boa around his shoulders and posing, shifting his hips just so as he strutted around the luxurious room bedecked in hues of gold and rose pink. "What do you think? Should I seek the life of a courtesan?"

"Maybe, if you can convince the poor woman to crawl into bed with you." Celeste didn't even bother to look up as she continued to flip through the documents that her informants in the brothel had acquired for her, information the lovely women had easily pried from their customers lips. Men liked to talk when they were being pleasured.

It wasn't extensive, but it provided a list of town names and "deliveries" that were due within a month. These new groups seemed significantly larger than usual and appeared to require less guards than previous loads.

A shipment of new "trainees" as the brothel mother had supposedly called them, carelessly giving away information to the woman who worked beneath her. She was nothing more than a dour-eyed hag who was making money on the side as a safe house for the slavers while receiving cheap new "wares" for her customers.

Celeste certainly looked forward to the day she could put a knife in the mistress's throat instead of skirting around her.

Fortunately for Celeste, she treated her girls as badly as she treated her cargo, making them a useful net of spies who were loyal beyond measure. Especially when a perk of their cooperation was getting to spend time with the oh-so-handsome and kind Gandriel.

It was also a bright side that the brothel mother rarely frequented the establishments she owned, Celeste thought ruefully as she flipped through another page, knowing that walking in and finding a tawny-eyed, hollow-headed male gyrating his hips would not be to her liking.

Celeste barely registered said male strutting and shimmying his hips behind her, doing Mother knew what with that scarf as he made noises she could only compare to a goose's call, laughing quietly at his own ridiculous behavior.

She still had no clue what her sister saw in him.

Perhaps he'd turn into goose so she could roast him for dinner.

"Did you know I learned how to do traditional Monteserrian dancing as a child?" He'd moved in front of the array of mirrors across the room now, staring at himself as he shook his hips to and fro, "Mama's teacher said I had wonderful dexterity in my hips for a male, almost as good as some of the females."

"Did she tell you have too much dexterity in your mouth?"

"My dexterous mouth has its uses," he flipped his hair back out of his face, "although it's not as dexterous as your sister's—"

Celeste slammed the papers down and shot Gandriel a glare, eyes steely. Was he being serious? She'd already told him time and time again that she wanted absolutely no details regarding his and her sister's relationship or sexual endeavors.

"What?" he inquired, the pink boa loose in his hands. "It's true."

He was serious. She almost threw the notes at him.

"What's true?" A sweet feminine voice cut in as the lovely dark-haired, blue-eyed Isabelle breezed in, her thin body wrapped in a pale silk bathing robe.

"That Gandriel wants his jaw broken."

"Oh, not his jaw, lovely, it's too pretty. Break his toes, he's no use for those."

Isabelle had been one of the first contacts that Fallon had introduced Celeste to, the lovely courtesan who'd been gleaning information for the Siren's captain for several years. Her track record was incredible, and the woman was as a crafty and clever as they came.

The human woman's lips quirked in amusement as she saw Gandriel swaying with the pink boa, "Enjoying playing with my scarf?"

"Yes," he said unashamedly, dropping to the bed with said garment wrapped around his shoulders. "You should get a red one, it'd offset your eyes nicely."

A blush raced up the woman's cheeks as she fluttered her eyelashes at him. Celeste sighed, rolling the papers up and rising from the bed. They had many things to do, packing being one of them. They were to set off back to Portmouth early the next morning to follow the leads that Fallon had gotten them, leads that would take her to whatever this shipment held . . .

"Is the information enough?" Isabelle asked, sitting down next to Gandriel on her plush rose duvet, an array of throw pillows taking up the majority of the space. "I know it's lacking some key details, but they've been trickier since the original routes have been flushed out."

"No, the information's fine. It's just . . ." she glanced through the notes again, trying to see between the lines. "Something's different about this one, I can't explain it. It's just a feeling."

"I think they're just spooked this time." Celeste shook her head, frowning. Spooked slavers didn't tend to assign fewer guards to large shipments of people.

Isabelle crossed her legs and reached for the tea service, pouring herself some of the now lukewarm liquid in the remaining cup before raising it to her lips. "And good thing too, they should think twice about preying on innocent people."

Celeste sometimes forgot that Isabelle, too, had claim against the slavers.

Her mother had been a slave who'd died from the backbreaking work her masters had put her through when she'd been taken ill one winter and had failed to recover. It had only been thanks to her quick thinking and love for her only child that she'd managed to have Isabelle smuggled in a wagon of goods out of Rask that same winter after she'd perished.

Isabelle had been adamantly fighting the bastards every chance she'd gotten since, even if she was somewhat of a slave now herself. Maybe Celeste would put the brothel mother down sooner than later, now that she thought on it.

"You're right." She shook the doubt from her mind and shoved the papers into her satchel. "We've finally got them on the run."

It wouldn't be long before she could finally pin down Dermot and give him everything he deserved. He'd still been one of the leaders that she hadn't been able to track, his movements so well guarded that it was like trying to hunt a phantom.

She'd been contemplating ways of drawing him out, baiting him, but none had proved successful. Yet.

"And in remarkable time," Isabelle blew a stray strand of her black hair from her face, "at the rate you're going we're going to have to schedule executions from now until the end of next year."

Celeste smirked at that as she pulled the cowl of her hood over her head, hiding her features. Already many ringleaders had been tried and punished for their crimes, losing everything from their notoriety and prestige amongst their social circles to their heads.

She'd enjoyed every second of the hunt until then too.

"How long will you be at sea this time?" The question was directed at Gandriel, Isabelle resting her manicured hand on the male's well-formed bicep. The women in the Ruby district certainly had no qualms about touching.

"A few months at most," he said as he gently took her hand from his arm and placed a kiss to it before rising and swooping the feathery scarf around her, winking. "Don't miss me too much."

"How could I not?" She winked back at him before gently shooing him away, "now get out of here and get home to that lovely Anelisse of yours. I'm certain she'll be wanting to spend some quality time with you before you're both stuffed on that ship for months."

"Right away, my lady." Gandriel said with a ridiculous, flourished bow. Celeste rolled her eyes. She had never seen a group of women swoon over a couple as much as they had Anelisse and Gandriel, each coming up with more elaborate and ridiculous tales of their star-crossed romance.

The only star-crossed one had been Celeste trying to survive their crooning over each other.

Noticing her stare, Gandriel threw his own bag over his shoulder and nodded towards her, ready to leave. Mother knew it would be hours of packing before he'd be ready to depart Marchedor. Best to get started sooner rather than later, then.

"Keep your eyes and ears open," Celeste said as she dug in her pocket for the coin she owed the courtesan, "and please be careful, they're getting smarter. I'd like to come back and have tea with you rather than have to avenge your death."

She passed the money to Isabelle who quickly slipped the gold piece into the brassier beneath her pale robe. "But what a mighty tale it would be! The feared Captain Lily avenging her courtesan friend in a blaze of glory."

"I think you're spending too much time with Gandriel." Celeste smirked as she shoved said male toward the door. Gandriel stuck his tongue out in response before waving farewell and slipping out under the arch of the bedroom.

Isabelle laughed, "Bon voyage, my friends! Best of luck with your travels!"

* * *

Murmurs went through the crowd as one of the noble men stood up, his bushy brows bunching as he addressed the small girl before him.

"You mean to tell me that one woman and a handful of barely armed fishermen single-handedly freed you and the other slaves? Preposterous."

"There was a woman with fangs and the skin of a snake too," The little girls cheeks puffed in agitation as she stomped her foot down, "it's the truth."

"What was she? Some magical creature? Child, even the most powerful of fae could not complete such a feat—"

Several of the fae emissaries shared a look, one that many of the human noblemen and women noted and scowled at.

"She was fae! She even saved my life before that, when she'd brought me back after I drowned—"

"A healer now, too? The probability of such a thing is just beyond reason—"

"The captain would have had to be some kind of fool to have not bound the female in faebane."

"Sounds like a child's tale to me," one of the fae male emissaries shouted next, his red hair in a plait down his back, "and while endearing it gives us no useful information—"

"Let her finish speaking!" A fae female chimed in, her blonde hair tied in a loose knot atop her head, "If you wish to hear the stories then you must be open to receiving them."

"But to attribute that type of daring rescue to one measly woman . . ."

A chorus of voices rose as arguments ensued, the girl's lip wobbling as everyone turned their attention and shouted over her. Cassian almost felt pity for her as he watched the others argue, discussing even the most minute detail of her story.

It had been an impressive one no doubt, a rescue that sounded better suited to one of the rubbish novels that Nesta read, but not as unlikely as many in the room were to believe. Then again, his family had always been prone pulling off the impossible.

"And what happened to this hero, child?" The original nobleman again, his voice so nasally that it grated against Cassian's nerves. His temper was within a hair's breadth of putting the bastard in his place.

The girl stopped, pulling at her sleeves before looking up. "I . . . I don't know . . ." She looked off to the side, her little face growing red with agitation. The girl's mother stood nearby, looking hopelessly on as the crowd continued their argument, the small boy hunkered behind her skirt.

"What nonsense," Lucien commented, having also listened to the child's recollection, "you'd think a room full of adults would have the decency to behave better than this."

"Do you not remember how the High Lord meetings have gone? I'd call this peaceful compared to some of those."

Lucien rolled his remaining eye before leaning back into his chair. "Well, thoughts?"

"Sounds like that group of people got really lucky." The likelihood of such a strong fae being present and having somehow escaped faebane was near zero. However, he had an inkling he knew exactly where that mysterious female had wondered off to, likely to the same place where a certain vigilante was raising hell. "They got out, I'd call that a case closed. Have you asked Fallon about it? She seems knowledgeable."

Lucien full-on blushed.

"We've been . . . preoccupied with other things." He rubbed at his face. "The woman's impossible, I never get anything done with her."

On the contrary, Cassian was certain Lucien got quite a few things done with the female. Rising from his chair, Cassian stretched his hidden wings, finding he'd had quite enough of this meeting, his head aching from the hours of monotonous discussions. He needed to get out and clear his mind, especially before he lost his temper and decided to knock heads together just to silence their nonsense. Lucien could fill him in on any remaining relevant information, especially since he was so . . . close . . . with the woman leading it all.

"Leaving?"

"Yes, I don't know how you can sit through anymore of it."

"Fair enough," Lucien also rose, flicking his attention towards the side door Fallon had disappeared through. "I should be on my way as well."

Cassian nodded toward the doorway and followed behind Lucien as they slipped out into the gardens, leaving the arguments and ensuing chaos behind him. If he never had to do this again, it'd be too soon.

* * *

Marrien was beyond flustered as she strode away holding her mother's hand after the meeting, feeling foolish for trying to share her story with the rude people in the assembly.

Although she wasn't supposed to use Celeste's real name, nor was she supposed to tell anybody where she was or what she was doing. She sniffed. She just shouldn't have come at all.

If Celeste had been there, she would have told them the truth. But she was off fighting the bad men, trying to save other people that had been taken like them. She missed her friend.

"It's all right," her mother assured, running a gentle hand down her hair, "we know that truth and that's the bit that matters."

"They're still dumb."

"Indeed, little one," a soft feminine voice interrupted as a beautiful, dark-haired high fae woman emerged from the edges of the crowd, two equally dark males flanking her. She wore a black tunic and her hair in a tight plait down her back, her eyes glistening like dark coals.

"May we help you?" her mother inquired, positioning herself between the female and her children. Marrien shared a concerned looked with James.

"Forgive me, madam, I would only like the opportunity to talk to your daughter." She nodded toward Marrien, her voice a soft trill. "Unlike the rest of these small-minded individuals, her story was most intriguing to me, and I feel it would be of great assistance to me and my colleagues if we could hear the whole, uninterrupted version."

Her mother paused before looking to her questioningly, letting her choose whether to speak or not.

Marrien made up her mind instantly.

Stepping forward toward the lady, she straightened her shoulders the way her mother had taught her and tilted her chin so that she could look up into her face. She wasn't nearly as pretty as Celeste was, though she did seem nice.

The female gave a small smile before kneeling down next to her so that they were eye level. "Let's begin with the part about the fae healer reviving you, it sounds like a very interesting tale."


	48. Book 2: Chapter 5: Of Pigments and Lies

The main square of Marchedor was packed with people, traders, minstrels and every occupation in between milling about as they wove back and forth between market stalls. Cassian had never seen anything like it, nowhere had there ever been such a conglomeration of high fae, faeries, demi-fae and humans coexisting.

Not even Velaris had reached this level of integration, even with the scattered human families that had settled there after the war. He suddenly felt foolish about glamouring his wings. He'd done so on previous trips to the human-populated parts of the continent decades ago, finding it easier to avoid the uncomfortable stares and fearful whispers from those who'd never seen the fae before.

Apparently, it was no longer necessary.

He stared as a lesser faerie with broad wings like a raven strode past, a basket of yarn tucked beneath his arm, the sun glistening off dark feathers bordering his night-black eyes as he hurried through the densely packed square. The male apologized as he bumped into a young human woman, who waved off his words with a smile.

Cassian almost wondered if he should return and bring Nesta, to let his mate see what their efforts had won them. To let her see that the world they'd fought tooth and nail for had blossomed regardless of the adversities.

A city and community that thrummed like a drum, a wheel smoothly turning without fail, full of riches and all wares imaginable.

He was willing to bet if he spent a bit of time searching, he could even procure some flower seeds for Elaine, an early wedding gift. He might even snoop about and see if he could find something for his brother too, perhaps a set of floral socks and panties to match his bride's décor.

He snickered at the thought.

Glancing down at the stationary, he flicked his eyes across Az's map, drawn in black ink contrasting sharply with the blush of the paper. The stall with the paints should be easy enough to find, he concluded, mentally mapping his way through the massive square around him.

Shoving the paper back into his pocket he set off, maneuvering around the denizens into the heart of the rippling crowd.

* * *

The heat of the summer was finally beginning to fade in the main square of Marchedor, the usual humid scorch having faded to a warm amber glow that left Anelisse's petite shoulders delightfully heated as she worked dutifully on her paintings, rendering each piece with care.

Well, painting and gleaning information, but seeing as no one had visited her stall that afternoon she was content to focus on the former. She'd already set out an array of her works to dry in the sun, the smell of the pigments crisp in the breeze.

Perhaps one of them would catch someone's fancy; she already had too many canvases that'd she'd need to haul back home that evening. Pulling free a portrait of Celeste that she had just completed, she gave it a once over, contemplating her sister's pretty features before setting it off to the side, away from the others. She'd painted it with a dramatic air, with her sisters long raven locks falling about her shoulders and framing her lovely tapered face, freckles just light brushed across her high cheeks. Not that the portrait had done her any justice.

No Celeste's beauty was nearly impossible to capture, the starlight in her eyes infuriating to try and replicate. She should know too, she'd tried a dozen times to recreate it and to no avail. And this most recent portrait, while an improvement, was rapidly becoming another piece that she'd have to throw out.

Maybe she'd paint a dark landscape over it, since there was no sense in wasting the canvas. Leaving it behind her she made her way back to her easel, her array of brushes, one of Gandriel's many gifts, hanging in the fabric holder beside it. She swiped up one and set to work.

Dipping her broad brush into the dollop of violet paint she'd just mixed, she expertly smeared it at an angle across the length of her canvas, blending the lilacs into deeper shadows. She'd been working on this piece for a few hours now, trying to render the likeness of the setting sun filtering through plush clouds on the coast.

She tapped her brush, contemplating the canvas.

Too dark.

Tsking, she reached for a vial of white paint and scooped out a generous amount onto her palette to mix with the violet until it became a light lavender. Pleased with the result, she began dabbing it across the rounded clouds, the colors now blending the way she'd first intended them to.

Her newfound freedom and stability had given her a few months of practice with painting now, and she had slowly cultivated the natural bits of talent she had to bloom into a fully-formed ability. Her talent had attracted the attention of numerous customers across the trading hub daily, many purchasing her pieces or inquiring about commissions.

She'd even taken up the practice of concocting her own pigments, following in her predecessors' footsteps. And, fortunately for her, gathering ingredients had become quite simple between trading in the square and gathering them on her travels.

Brushing a paint covered hand across her apron she smiled at her creation, another piece that would fetch at least a few copper pieces and maybe some silver.

Her contribution to their little family's finances, regardless of how small it was. Being able to help in any capacity had given her purpose, something she'd never felt before.

And since her mortality tended to put her at a disadvantage when it came to slave trade, she would do everything she could. Especially since Celeste had nearly banned her from joining raids after her attempt to seduce Dermot's first mate had gone south, her sister's face going as white as porcelain when she'd given her the details.

She'd bitten back, insisting that they needed her help and that'd she'd be a key part in pinning down that slimeball that her sister was so keen on capturing. She'd only relented when Gandriel had pled with her to be safe, his tawny eyes nearly round as saucers and filling with tears as he'd begged.

He'd known exactly which buttons to push to make her crack, in more than one context.

So, she'd been on spy duty since, only allowed to venture out with them on the missions her sister deemed safe and assigned to working gathering intel in the interim.

She was sour about it, would have been half-tempted to sneak off and do her own work had it not been for Celeste's sincere concern for her. The lengths to which she went to make sure she was also safe and sought after, as she'd always done.

She wrinkled her nose in agitation. If she'd been fae it would have never been an issue, but with her mortality making her frail . . . frustration did not even begin to describe her feeling towards the infuriating lack of speed and strength that her human blood doomed her to.

"Afternoon, darlin,'" a voice chimed from the front of Anelisse's stall, Celli's familiar, aging face materializing as she peered over the counter and towards the painting. "Looks lovely." She frowned. "You might want to put that pretty necklace of yours away though, wouldn't want to get paint on it while you work."

Anelisse glanced down and realized her sister's pendant had slipped free from beneath her dress and was already speckled in a smattering of reds and oranges. She cringed and wiped the large stone clean on her apron, then quickly tucked the pendant back beneath her neckline. "Thank you, Celli."

"Any time. Here," the round woman offered out a large wicker basket, "for you, your boy and that pretty sister of yours."

Anelisse took the wrapped container of pastries the woman passed to her, the smell of cherries and plums wafting from under the red cloth. She felt her mouth water. The woman's baking was absolutely sinful.

"Oh my goodness, thank you! Here, let me get you your coin—" she finished around in the pockets of her dress, searching for her satchel of coin knowing it was floating about somewhere.

"No need, sweets, it's on the house. Think of it as thanks for all the business you've directed my way." The older woman wiped her hands on her flour-coated apron, her eyes crinkling.

"Nonsense, I've only sent a few over—"

"I've made more profit in the last three months alone than I've done in the last two years, thanks to your generous recommendations to those doe-eyed boys. Think nothing of it."

Anelisse stopped her fishing.

She'd only been suggesting the pastries to the patrons who frequented her stall, namely bright-eyed men and males who seemed eager to earn her attention. She'd happily used them to her advantage, selling them her less-than-perfect pieces and having them go to Celli for a treat after. More often than not, they brought her back one too.

She couldn't say she was above it though, free food was free food. Especially buttery morsels dusted in confectioner's sugar. Her stomach rumbled as the smell of the tarts in the basket wafted up to her nose. She quickly sat the basket down, knowing that if she kept it too close she'd end up eating them all before she even got them home.

She'd been using her looks and the men's interest to her full advantage, both in spying and acquiring things. Even if her attention was strictly honed in on a certain broad-chested male with the most luscious lips she'd ever had the pleasure of tasting. The thought of him had her toes curling.

Despite her vow in the tunnels, she'd been thankful to have made an exception for blondes in Gandriel's case.

"Besides, you lot are taking off tomorrow aren't ye? Give you something to remember me by while you're gone."

"If you're certain, Celli," she leaned over the stall to hug the elderly woman, her presence reminding her a great deal of the still missing Martha. Despite their searching, there'd been no word of her or Adder's whereabouts. "I look forward to seeing you when we return."

"And I you, child, now back to work with you!" Celli waved. Anelisse watched as the elderly woman made her way across the brimming square, dodging in out of patrons and nearly slamming into a hulking figure of a man.

She blinked in surprise, catching sight of the man's rounded ears beneath shoulder length hair. He certain didn't look human, not with how large and broad he was. Demi-fae, perhaps.

He politely righted Celli, the old woman looking up at him with awe as he inclined his head and gently moved past her, heading straight for Anelisse's stall. Pushing stray ashen locks back, she offered the man a smile as he finally reached her. Maybe she could con him into buying one of her paintings. He didn't look the artist sort though, even as his earth-toned eyes roved over her stall.

"Afternoon, sir, can I help you?" He was certainly pretty for being human too, something about the sharp angles of his face ringing a bell of familiarity in her mind. Where had she seen features like that before?

She tapped her fingers mindlessly on the counter of stall, contemplating.

"I'm looking for paint." His voice was deep and gravely, though certainly not unkind. He offered out a slip of unexpectedly flowery paper, a list printed in neat writing across it. "These pigments, if you have them."

She flicked her eyes over the page, sounding out the letters in her mind as she read through the list. Celeste and Gandriel had both insisted she learn to read and while it had taken her a while to get the gist of it, she'd managed to master enough to get by.

"Afraid most of these colors were made by the female who ran this stall before me," Anelisse frowned as she turned toward her own shelf of paints she'd mixed, the colors vibrant in the sun as she pulled them down and lined them up. "You're welcome to go through these though, see if there's any you like."

Turning back to her palette, she grabbed a new brush, thin and fanned this time, and dipped it into yellow, then orange before turning back to her canvas. Hopefully he'd buy at least a few vials of the paint, a few less things she would have to pack up when she left for the evening and the following months.

He sifted quietly through the paints for several minutes, picking out a selection of colors that told Anelisse he certainly wasn't the one the one who would be using them.

"I'll take these."

She put her brush down, admiring the rays of sun she'd started painting before stepping over and beginning to pack the paints, double wrapping them in cloth. He'd picked seven, which would net her a few silver pieces.

"Are these your paintings?" the man inquired, motioning towards the various canvases, a mixture of media and subjects; the vast majority a variety of renditions of Gandriel's torso, painted in various hues. She grinned.

"They are, see something you like?"

He smirked at her, "No, the style just reminds me of a very close friend's work."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself." He didn't seem the type who'd want a half-naked portrait of a male above his bed anyway, although she didn't like to judge. More for her to stare at later.

She was nearly done wrapping the vials and about to bring up the matter of payment when the man flitted his attention behind her and let out an odd choking sound.

"Where did you get that?" The tremor that suddenly filled his voice had Anelisse flicking her gaze up towards him.

He'd frozen, his eyes growing wide as saucers as color drained from his deeply tanned face, his gaze locked on the portrait of Celeste she'd set aside. She peered back over a shoulder at the canvas and felt her brows narrow.

"That's a painting of my sister, I made it."

"Let me see it." The words came out as an order, one that had Anelisse's spine straightening. Just who did he think he was?

Sensing her stare and offense he amended with a breathless, "Please," even as his attention remained wholly fixed on it.

She stopped her wrappings, distrust filling her as she walked back to the large canvas and picked it up before bringing it forward to the man. He took it from her with a reverence that had her brow shooting further into her hairline.

He stood there in silence, a wide array of emotions flickering across his features as he stared and stared at the piece, his breathing uneven. Anelisse shifted awkwardly on her feet, concern filling her at the man's sudden interest.

She'd should have known better than to have left it out. None of the slavers had seen her sister's face as far as they knew, though, so why his sudden interest? Unless he was angling for information-

He snapped his attention back to her as though he had just remembered she was still there, holding onto the painting as he stared at her, despair marring his handsome face. "Your sister?"

She nodded.

"My sister. I painted it a few weeks ago." Anelisse grew more apprehensive even as she kept her casual tone, revealing nothing. She watched the man as he gingerly ran his hand over the canvas, gently outlining Celeste's features, his roving eyes absorbing every detail.

Celeste was going to be absolutely ticked.

"You look nothing alike," he muttered more to himself than her, as though he were searching for an answer that would not come to him. She easily fell into her rehearsed persona, lies beginning to spool from her lips.

"We share a mother but have different fathers." She gave a slight smirk, lifting a hand to her mouth and whispering conspiratorially, "You know how things tend to go when women grow tired of their husbands and find, new dashing lovers."

The man seemed to miss the implications, still fixated.

"Where is she? What is her name? Is she human?"

Oh, he was certainly snooping for information now, although rather badly. Well, two could play at that game.

"Her name is Isabelle, she works in the Ruby District." She pointed toward the southeast corner of the square. "Head down to the south side of town; she's at the Orchid." She laughed, a disarming trill. "And of course she's human, she is my sister after all." She was suddenly glad for the artist license she'd taken with painting her sisters hair down, hiding her delicately pointed ears. She gave a dramatic sigh, fanning herself, "Of course there are some embellishments in the painting to try and lift her confidence, since, you know, she's not the _pretty_ sister." A mischievous wink.

Some of the intensity left the man with that bit of information, as though whatever had consumed him had wavered, something that didn't add up. He shook his head as if to clear it from a daze before pinching the bridge of his nose between gloved fingers.

"Why?" Anelisse's inquired, keeping her tone light even as her need to protect her sister rose. He certainly wasn't acting like any of the smugglers she'd met, they'd all at least had the intelligence to be somewhat subtle.

Unless he wasn't one-then why his unexpected curiosity?

The man remained silent for long minutes before he spoke in a broken whisper, "She just looks like someone I used to know . . . someone who was very important to me."

Oh. Intrigue filled Anelisse as her need to snoop rose, maybe Celeste looked like an ex-girlfriend then. She slapped her own gossiping nature down, knowing the sooner she ended the exchange the better. Smuggler or desperate ex-boyfriend, it didn't matter.

"Huh, small world." She reached for the painting, intending to take it back and begin packing her belongs, it wouldn't hurt to close up shop early—but he snatched the painting away. She nearly snarled at him, contemplating chucking her palette at him and demanding the canvas back.

What was this guy's issue?

"How much?" His eyes were stony as they fixed on her, his grip tight on the canvas. She shook her head and reached for it again, Mother help her if she had to pry it from his fingers-

"It's not for sale," she wiggled her fingers for it, "so please, if you'll let me see that—"

"How much?" he said again, iron will filling his tone. "Name your price, I'll pay it."

"Honestly, there really isn't any amount you could pay—"

He dropped a heavy satchel before her, coins clinking as they settled. Her eyes widened as she gaped at the purse.

"How. Much."

* * *

"Well, you're home early," Celeste noted from her spot at the table, chewing on a crusty piece of bread as Anelisse snuck into the apartment, her art supplies and canvases tucked under her arms and carrying a basket that smelt suspiciously like pastries.

Celeste had been back for several hours, having already packed her belongings and beginning to plot their routes out for the next few weeks on the Loreley. Gandriel had yet to emerge from his room, no doubt trying to squeeze every single deep V-necked shirt he owned into his ridiculous amount of luggage.

"Sold out early today, so I thought I'd get a jump start on packing." Anelisse's voice was a high trill as she hummed mindlessly, dumping her things onto the couch before she scuttled towards the table, her footsteps bouncing.

Celeste lifted a single brow. Her sister was being unusually . . . chipper.

"Sold out early?"

"Yep, sold every last vial of paint I had and a couple portraits too." She swiped up piece of bread, humming as she smothered it in butter and jam. "Made enough money to cover us for the next few months."

Celeste nearly spit out the mouthful of water she'd just taken, her eyes flaring wide. She forced herself to swallow before sitting forward and looking at her sister with suspicion.

"You're kidding."

"Nope." Anelisse shoved the piece of bread into her mouth, chewing noisily as she dropped a heavy bag of coin onto the table, the satchel landing with a solid thunk as gold and silver pieces spilled out of its top. Celeste brows met in the middle, her jaw going slack.

That was certainly more than enough to cover them for a few months, more like a year. She eased back into her chair, brows still knotted. What had her sister gotten herself into this time?

"How?" Concern filled her as she flicked through the scenarios that might explain whatever sister had done to acquire the coin. Was she back gambling in the Quartz district? She'd certainly done better this time than the last if that was the case.

Anelisse dusted off her dress before sitting across from her, refusing to meet Celeste's gaze as she nonchalantly explained, "I sold your portrait."

Horror washed through Celeste.

"Excuse me, you did what?"

"Don't worry," she waved her hand back and forth dismissively, "it was just some random man who thought you looked like his ex-girlfriend." She grabbed another piece of bread. "Besides, I already sent him down to Isabelle just in case, she'll be able to pry any information from his lips, if he had any."

Celeste blinked once, then twice.

"Did you think that might be a bad idea?" Even with her trying to keep a low profile she worried for the safety of her courtesan friend, even if the woman tended to turn the men who came to her into putty. "Or even think you should have asked me before you did that?"

"He was loaded and practically bawling over it, I've never seen a man that size get so emotional." She grimaced in disgust. "Besides, we can use the coin and whatever information Isabelle gets. I really don't think he was a slaver though."

She was half tempted to leave right then and head down to the Ruby district, just to ensure that whoever that man was wouldn't be causing any trouble.

"Do you remember what he looked like at least? Any distinguishing marks?"

Her sister squinted her eyes as though trying to remember. "He was human, a very tall, attractive human, but still human. Broad chest too, built like an ox, and that jawline—"

"Anelisse, focus, please." She needed useful information, anything that might help her pin the individual when she set out to hunt him. "Hair and eye color? Any notable markings or scars?"

"Dark, and not that I saw. He just looked like some soldier or mercenary, though he didn't wear any distinguishing regalia. Barked orders like a commander though; bit of a hard-ass. Though that aura dissipated pretty quickly once he looked at the painting. Like I said, former lover."

This was a disaster.

"Anelisse," Celeste rubbed her eyes. "Why?"

"What'd Anelisse do?" Gandriel inquired, slinking from his room, his hair damp from the bath he'd just taken. He reached across the table for a piece of bread and spotted the pile of coins. "Holy Mother-that's a lot of money. Where'd you get that?"

"She sold my portrait to some random man." Celeste muttered with her face in her hands, not certain if she was more concerned with a smuggler having just acquired her portrait or an ex who thought she looked like his lost love.

Neither option was palatable, but the money . . . they could certainly put it to use. But Isabelle . . .

"Like I told Celeste, I think she reminded him of an ex-girlfriend and wanted the piece as a memento."

"He must have really missed his _amor_ ," Gandriel snickered.

"He'll probably pleasure himself to it tonight," Anelisse giggled. "Or maybe ask Isabelle to give him a hand with it—"

" _ANELISSE._ " Disgust leached into Celeste at even the thought of something so vile being done to her image—

"Oh, don't be so offended, you probably made him really happy. Besides," Anelisse licked the jam from her fingers, gesturing at the obscenely large pile of coins on the table. "At least he bought you dinner first."

Celeste groaned.


	49. Mop Buckets

Cassian's heart had nearly stopped clean in his chest when he'd seen the painting, the rich purple canvas rendered with a woman who was the splitting image of Celeste, her eyes sparkling like starlight. He'd almost hit his knees from the shock of it as he'd forced air into his lungs, willing himself to stay composed as the young painter had watched him curiously.

How many years had it been since he'd seen her beautiful face? Since he had started to lose its impression in his memory, unable to string the details together correctly?

And seeing that portrait, nearly identical . . . he'd almost lost it.

If she was there, if they'd missed her all these years and she'd been right under their noses—the thought had left him dizzy, a knot forming in his stomach that they'd failed her all that time, abandoned on her own-

He'd nearly grabbed the poor painter and demanded she tell him exactly who she'd painted and where she was. The sharp look she'd cut him, full of more grit than some of his own soldiers, had checked him, even as his need to start searching, to tear the world apart to find her again had nearly consumed him.

But it wasn't her, he'd realized as his heart shredded down its seams as the painter cheerfully explained, it was a human woman who'd been painted by the talented hands of her young ashen-haired sister, who knew nothing of the tragedy.

But the resemblance, the fae-like features, the starlight shining in her eyes . . .

He had to check, he had to be certain.

Which was why he now hurried toward the Ruby District, stepping through the almost empty cobblestone streets as he looked for The Orchid, the sun dipping below the horizon. He'd left his things and the portrait at the somewhat run-down inn he had gotten a room at with some of the remaining coin he had after buying the painting, having spent the bulk of the afternoon staring at the piece while he'd sat on his bed.

He'd considered contacting Rhys, considered tapping into the permanent mental link his brother kept strung between their family to tell him might have found her. But if it wasn't her, if it was just a wild goose chase . . . he decided against it.

He would not say until he was certain, he wouldn't open wounds that had finally closed over, not until he was certain there was reason to. Even if he felt he might jump out of his skin.

If she'd somehow landed in Marchedor, if she was working as a courtesan of all things to survive . . . he quickened his footsteps. They'd searched the city top to bottom thirteen years ago, but if they'd somehow missed her . . . He'd never forgive himself, none of them would.

It was entirely possible she might have been adopted, if she'd been taken in as the older sister—she and the young painter certainly looked nothing alike. But how would she have survived it? The sheer distance she would have had to travel to reach Marchedor's shores . . . and they'd had so many eyes looking out for her. And the girl had said she was human, but if she'd lied for some reason—

Why hadn't she come home? Why hadn't she tried to contact them?

And even if his only reward for his search was a glimpse of a woman who looked a bit like her . . . well, he'd consider it a final gift from the Mother, a sign that it was time to move forward and that no one would ever forget her.

The thoughts tumbled and rolled in his mind as he cut around a small side street and strode toward the upscale brothel centered in the middle of the road, exactly where the amused artist said it would be. He didn't bother with pleasantries as he stepped through the arched doors, the main parlor swathed in deep indigos with elaborate golden orchid carvings wrapped around the bannisters, the smell of fresh cut flowers doing little to cover the scent of warm, aroused bodies.

Cassian paid it little heed as he strode up to the powdered woman at the front desk, brown curls sitting atop her head, her eyes lighting up and shoulders curving as he moved towards her. She cut him a blinding, trained smile, easy and well-rehearsed.

"Well, well, how may we assist—"

"I need to see Isabelle."

 _I need to see Celeste._

The woman didn't even look surprised as she smirked a little before flipping through an appointment book. "Everyone wants the rose."

Blinding wrath, the people who had touched her—he'd level the building, the city if needed.

"Lucky you, the rose is free." The woman turned and swiped a golden key from the wall. Cassian reached to grab when the woman clicked her tongue and shook a finger. "Deposit first, and weapons off too, can't have you intimidating or hurting one of the girls."

Cassian nearly growled his annoyance, half tempted to tell the woman he had zero interest in sleeping with the woman and they'd have more to worry about than his weapons if she was who he thought she was. Instead, he swiftly dug out what was likely more than enough coin, dropping it into the woman's hand.

She smiled like a glutted swine before slipping the coin away and holding out her other hand. "Your weapons."

Lifting his cloak, he showed the woman that he had no visible blades on him, the single broadsword he wore strapped down his spine discarded at the inn. There was no sense in telling her about the other twenty pounds of steel he had strapped beneath his clothes or the power of the red syphons that he could summon at a moment's notice.

She took it as acceptable and nodded toward the stairs.

"She's the third room on the right, make sure you knock, gets a bit pissy if you don't."

Cassian nearly froze, thinking on another temperamental little girl who became furious if you didn't knock before entering. He swallowed hard and nodded.

If she were here . . . he'd beg for forgiveness, from now until the darkness claimed him.

"Well, off with you, and do have fun!" A wink.

Disgust filled him as he took the stairs two at a time, hoping against all hope at what he would find.

* * *

Sleep had evaded Celeste as she'd rolled back and forth on her bed, worry gnawing at her as she thought about Isabelle, dwelling on the mysterious man Anelisse had sent to her. She'd lasted all of an hour before she was upright and dressed, heading into the shadowed streets. She had to be certain her friend was all right.

But first she needed to find her first mate, as she certainly didn't intend to wander the dark alleys of the less savory parts of the city in search of an unknown man without backup. Unfortunately, Gandriel appeared to have conveniently slipped off for one last night on the town when she'd gone to ask him to go with her. She'd honestly been surprised Anelisse hadn't joined him, having instead found her sister soundly asleep in her own bed.

At least someone had the sense to prepare for their trip tomorrow.

Though she wouldn't have wanted her company anyway, Ithaca had disappeared days ago without warning, as Celeste had discovered she was prone to do. With any luck she'd still be gone when they set out.

She had no doubts where her first mate had wandered off to either, reveling in his last days on land before he was so tragically cloistered on the sea for a few months. If she were wise, Celeste noted with no lack of amusement, she'd just leave him to his partying and head off on the Loreley alone.

It'd certainly teach him to be on time for once. Though the whining that would follow would dampen the lesson she'd hope to teach.

Dodging through the still-busy main square, Celeste quickly passed through the milling crowd bathed in fae-light, a mix of all races laughing and chattering, and made her way toward the array of inns in the more upscale part of town.

There were several she'd have to search through, the Mermaid Scale, Lark's Song, and Gold Herring were good places to start though, being Gandriel's preferred stomping grounds.

Stepping up onto the porch of the Scale she slipped into the dim interior and began her search, vowing to hit him once for every inn she had to search and didn't find him in.

* * *

For every battlefield he'd stood on without an ounce of fear Cassian felt like a stupid child standing before the ivory door in front of him, filled with a terror he'd never known.

If she was in there . . . what would he tell Rhys? Feyre? . . . Everyone?

His heart hammered once, painfully, in his chest.

What would he tell _her?_

And with his wings still glamoured . . . would she even recognize him? Remember him?

That violet-eyed little mischief maker who'd bested him at every turn, who gave him more hell than the entirety of the rest of their court. How would he explain who he was, that she had a family, a place where she belonged wholly, that she didn't belong in this shit hole of a profession.

Would she even want to see him? Would she be so furious that they'd given up the search, so jaded and lost from a family that would have seemingly abandoned her to fend for herself?

Panic, raw and searing unlike he'd ever felt filled him, how could he explain that all their leads had run dry and they'd given up . . . that'd they'd left her for dead.

What if she had been avoiding them intentionally, if she wanted nothing to do with them—

There was no point in dwelling, he would face it as it came. He lifted a fist to knock, preparing himself for what he would find when the sound of scuffling resounded from the other side of the door, the crash of smashing glass—

Cassian barreled the door down, courtesy be damned, and found himself in a dimly lit room face to face with a masked assailant who held a knife pressed to the throat of a dark-haired woman, her mouth covered with a dark glove.

 _Celeste_.

Caught off guard, the man froze, loosening his grip in surprise, just long enough for the woman to jab her elbow directly into her captor's groin and tear loose, ripping his arms off her and immediately rolling to the side.

Cassian would have known that move anywhere, he'd taught her that.

Instinct drove him as he quickly maneuvered around her and dodged the sloppy knife work of the masked male, weaving around the flying blade. He caught the man's arm and easily tore the weapon free.

The woman scrambled away from the scuffle, pushing herself up the wall and standing clear. There was no need, it was over before it began. Cassian disarmed the male and threw him to the floor, catching his arm in a lock and digging his face into the carpet. He torqued the arm.

"Are you all right?" he questioned the woman, the male thrashing beneath him with fae strength. Panic flooded Cassian, she'd been so damn close to being killed—

Silence.

"Are you all right—" he looked up and finally caught sight of the woman's face, of her pale skin and soft blue eyes-her human features, "-Celeste."

She wasn't fae and she certainly wasn't Celeste.

She looked at him wide-eyed before barely nodding, her body shaking from the shock.

The hope he'd strung together collapsed down around him, numbing him as he kept the male pinned, the sliver of light he thought he'd found vanishing. This was stupid, so damned stupid—

"Bitch," the male snarled from the carpet, his blonde hair spilling from the hood he'd worn, "you won't win this." A crunch sounded, as though the male was chewing something before his body tightened and immediately went slack, his arm going limp in Cassian's grip.

He didn't even bother to lay it down gently, instead letting it fall with a thump to the floor. He looked to the woman, sorrow swallowing him whole.

"You're not Celeste."

"Dear," the woman replied in a lilting accent, her eyes still wide in terror as she glanced down at the body on her floor, "I can be anyone you want me to be after that daring rescue."

Her face, while beautiful, wasn't fae. In the dim light Cassian could see her eyes were a soft blue, not liquid starlight, and her hair was more of a dark brown than a true black. Her sister had certainly taken some artistic license, although he could see the resemblance. He couldn't even bring himself to laugh at her proposition, instead scrubbing at his face as an ancient, deep exhaustion took him.

"Are you injured?" She took a tentative step towards him, adjusting her silken robe around her as she looked him over.

"I'm fine." He needed to head back to the inn, to end this pointless, bullshit pursuit he'd so foolishly set out on, "care to explain this?" He gestured vaguely to the corpse.

"He came in through the window," she looked towards the opened glass, "If you hadn't come when you did—" She fixed her gaze on him, frowning. "Why are you here?"

"Your sister in the market, there was a painting . . ." Cassian felt a pain erupting between his eyes, one that only came with the greatest distress. " . . . You look like someone I knew a long time ago. I thought you might be . . ."

"My sister?" She paused only briefly, then recognition, "You mean Anelisse? Is she selling my portraits again? Girl is a deviant if I've ever met one." She'd composed herself quickly, contemplating, " . . . You said Celeste, was that her name? Are you looking for her?"

"There's no point," Cassian muttered, standing and moving toward the shattered door, suddenly done with the evening and this cursed city. "She's dead."

* * *

It'd taken Celeste seven inns before she'd found Gandriel slouched across an abandoned card table in the rundown Brown Hen of all places, snoring louder than a boar with a handful of cards and several tankards of mead surrounding him.

"Need any help corralling him, miss?" The innkeeper inquired, his bushy brows knotting in the center.

"Unless you have a knife with which I can stab him and be done with his stupidity, no." She handed the barkeep a handful of coin for his trouble and for his silence. "But I will get him out of your way, so if you'll excuse me."

She swept up Gandriel's nearly full tankard of mead and dumped it over his head before kicking the chair out from under him, sending him sprawling to the floor. The male came to immediately as he hit the wood, spluttering.

He squinted red-stained eyes at her.

"Heyyy Celeste," he slurred, recognition dawning as he saw her. He gave her a toothy grin. "Looking good, my friend." She rolled her eyes. Because he could certainly see her features beyond the dark hood she wore. And he hadn't even bothered with her alias.

"Get up." She pointed at the door. "We're leaving now."

"But I was playing cards." He rolled over onto his hands and knees, swaying. "Was winning too."

"You mean before you fell asleep and they took all your money?" She pointed to his now empty coin pouch. "Get up."

"All right, all right, no need to be angry," Gandriel grappled with the chair, sloppily pulling himself upright. "I promise to drunk I'm not sailing." He caught sight of one of the barmaids and waggled his brows at her from his position against the seat of the chair. "And you, lovely, you're almost as pretty as my Anelisse. Almost."

Celeste was half tempted to kick him to the floor again just for good measure.

"We need to go down and check on Isabelle, let's go."

He was still leaning on the chair, his eyes fluttering closed as a snore escaped his lips. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him upright with ease, ignoring the loose-jawed stare of surprise the barkeeper gave her.

She guessed he wasn't accustomed to the strength of full fae females. She frankly didn't give a damn and would happily throw him through a wall too if he wanted to tussle. Her patience was running thin. Gandriel, now fully awake, flashed her a sheepish grin.

"Are you going to walk out of here on your own or am I going to have to carry you like the infant you are?"

"I'll walk," he squeaked, immediately getting his feet under him, only to heave and lurch over again. Celeste rolled her eyes and shoved him toward the door, swiping up a mop bucket and dumping its contents as she followed after him. She tossed the bartender another coin.

"For the bucket."

She pushed Gandriel once more out into the cool night air, watching him stumble down the stairs. He stayed upright, barely, his arms wheeling.

"See that? Didn't fall—" He gagged again, making a horrendous retching sound. Celeste shoved the bucket into his hands.

He immediately up-chucked, missing the bucket, the contents of his stomach splattering on the ground. Celeste wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Be polite and at least puke in the bucket, you heathen," she hissed as she dragged him over to one of the benches outside the inn, the sound of music and revelry still creeping through the window. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

This time he vomited into the bucket. He blinked bleary eyes up at her, reeking of alcohol.

"Vomiting?"

She rolled her eyes, glancing around her as she took in the empty alleys. Everyone was either at home or in watering holes like the one she'd just pulled Gandriel from.

"I mean what the hell are you doing out? We have to leave in a few hours, you know."

"Had to get one last night on the town," he coughed dangerously, as though he might heave again. "Was collecting intel."

"You're absolutely full of shit and we both know it." He began retching again, and Celeste's patience flagged.

"You know what? Go home!" She pointed toward the cobblestone street that led directly to their apartment. "We have to leave in five hours and I expect no complaining in the morning. And for the Mother's sake, don't fall in a ditch on your way there."

Gandriel saluted her, completely trashed. "Aye aye Captain! Right away."

She didn't even bother replying as she stomped off into the night, knowing that her hopes for a full night's sleep and potential backup should something go south were now entirely in vain and that she still had to head down to the Ruby District on her own to check on Isabelle.

Fuming, she started out on the main road, the easiest route to The Orchid, and suddenly felt that odd tug, the invisible thread. She froze, wondering if she'd imagined it before she took another step down the road and felt it again, more insistent this time, as though it wanted her to go elsewhere.

She quirked a brow. That guiding thread never led her wrong before, should she not take that route? Curious, she stepped to the left, toward the longer, more complex route and the tugging ceased, a sense of calm settling over her.

Not questioning the guidance, she quickly set out down that path, passing under faelight lanterns, a feeling of dread beginning to fill her as she thought on Isabelle. Something wasn't right, and that invisible tether . . . she needed to hurry.

* * *

Cassian slowly made his way down the winding alleys back to the inn he'd gotten a room at, the Brown Hen or some nonsense. The city, still bright with life despite the late hour, hardly registered as he walked through the shadowed streets.

He barely noted the revelers partying around him, enjoying the night much the same way they did back home. Except with more drunks, he noted as he watched a couple stumble into each other, laughing as they strolled up the path.

How foolish could he have been to have believed she was alive? They'd tried to save her and they'd failed. That was it.

She was gone.

Cassian scrubbed at his face, feeling terrible even though he'd saved the woman, upset that she wasn't who he hoped she'd been, and that portrait . . . part of him wanted to incinerate it, to put this entire shitty night behind him as a bad memory. But the other part . . . he wanted to keep the painting, if for no other reason to have something to remember her by.

Something to keep her features alive in his mind, even if they weren't of her.

He'd thought on it and decided he wouldn't show the others, out of shame or to protect them he wasn't certain, but it was something for him. Perhaps he'd collect some Highland roses, the ones she'd loved, and press them to go with it.

The night breeze curled around him, the smell of lavender and dogwoods wafting through the air as he strode down the cobblestone path.

He was nearing the street that the inns were packed on when he caught sight of a tall, broad-shouldered high fae male stumbling up the path, his hair pulled back in a low blonde ponytail with a bucket clutched in his hands.

Cassian was half curious as to what he had in the bucket when the male suddenly gagged and the stench of vomit saturated the air as he puked into the bucket.

Oh, so that's what it was.

Wrinkling his nose, Cassian stepped to the side, making room for the male to pass him.

He'd decided his original opinion of Marchedor was wrong, this city was terrible.

Seemingly oblivious, the male trotted up the path beside Cassian before stopping and puking once more, the sound echoing loudly off of the building. Someone had been partying a little too hard.

Cassian considered asking the male if he needed help when he looked up at him, tawny eyes shining blearily in the lamplight.

Something about the male's features set a bell off in Cassian's mind, but as he was about to peer closer the male stumbled straight up to him and slammed the nasty bucket into his hands, the smell of stomach bile assaulting Cassian's nose.

" _Feliz cumpleaños._ "

The male patted him firmly on the shoulder and burped before trotting off, a bit more pep in his step as he started humming.

What the hell did that even mean? Cassian stared down at the vile bucket in his hands in disbelief before chucking it off to the side, sending its contents spilling down the road.

He hated this city.

* * *

Celeste sat down on Isabelle's bed as she looked at the body sprawled across the floor, adrenaline rushing through her system. She'd nearly ran the entire path there, cursing her own foolishness for taking the back roads. She'd missed the skirmish by minutes.

"You're certain he wasn't trying to harm you?"

"Not at all, Lily," Isabelle replied, sitting next to Celeste, her shoulders still shaking from the attack. Celeste cursed her own foolishness for not coming sooner and wasting so much time looking for Gandriel.

"Did you use the maneuver I taught you?" She'd given Isabelle the basic tidbits of self-defense she'd always known.

"Yes," she shuddered, wrapping her robe tighter around herself, "but I told you, he didn't attack me, on the contrary actually. He did say he was looking for a woman though, one that looked like a painting your sister gave him."

"It has to be the same man then." What was his motive then? He'd somehow had the foresight to get to Isabelle before her attacker could kill her. "What is he getting at?" Was he one of Fallon's new agents?

"It was strange for sure, he left right after without so much as a word." Isabelle grew quiet, picking at her nails. "He said he was looking for someone he knew a long time ago but that'd she'd died. He said her name was Celeste."

Celeste halted, blinking as fear began to flood her. The pieces clicked into place. She had an idea who was looking for her.

"He said she was dead?"

The question took Isabelle aback, confusion dancing across her features. She nodded.

"I'm certain, muttered something about leaving this city and left right out the door." She flicked her hand towards the hallway. "I wonder who it could be," the courtesan fanned herself, her feet propped up on the bed, "he seemed pretty torn up about it."

"I don't know," Celeste muttered, rising from the bed, her mind spooling back into itself. Surely, they wouldn't have tracked her to this city? And if they thought she was dead-coincidence, pure coincidence-

Pain spliced through her head, her vision swimming.

"Lily, are you all right?" Isabelle's soft hand fell on her shoulder, "You went pale all of sudden."

"I'm fine." She rose, her knees shaking beneath her as her head pounded. She needed to get home, then back to the Loreley as quickly as possible. "You need to go into hiding while we're gone, you've been compromised."

"I know," the courtesan's lips downturned, "I sent a letter out to Fallon already, she and a few others are to move me to a safehouse tomorrow so I'll be looked after while you're gone."

"Good." Home, she needed to get home and out of this city as soon as she possibly could.

"Lily," Celeste looked back to Isabelle, her lovely face full of worry, "please be careful. I have a bad feeling about all of this."

 _You've no idea._

* * *

Celeste's head was still throbbing by the time she got home and the sound of Gandriel's drunken singing from the couch was certainly not helping. It was doing nothing to calm the fear that had spliced through her, the terror that had saturated her. She took a few deep breaths, struggling to placate her wheeling mind.

They thought she was dead, and if they thought she was dead they wouldn't try to track her-

"Can you please stop," Celeste muttered, yanking her boots free as she tried to stay upright, the room spinning around her.

"It's a traditional ditty," Gandriel slurred from the couch, his feet propped over the arm. "Thought it was pretty." He paused, then cursed as though he'd suddenly remembered something. "I gave my puke bucket away!"

Celeste didn't bother to address him as she bolted the door behind her and made for her room, dizziness filling her. Sensing her unease, Gandriel sat up, more sober than she'd expected.

"Hey, are you all right?" Concern filled his tone. She waved him off.

"I just have a headache after having to deal with your shit all night." She gestured toward his room. "I'd suggest getting some sleep. I want to leave as early as we can."

Upon realizing how early they'd have to depart the male groaned, dropping back to the couch.

It served him right.


	50. Selkie Maidens

"Looking a bit green around your ears, Gandriel, have a bit too much in the tavern last night?" The sound of Eoin's amused voice echoed against the walls of Gandriel's mind, causing the dull pounding there to intensify. He didn't bother with pleasantries, settling instead for throwing the young sailor a vulgar gesture as he strolled down the Loreley's gangplank looking far too perky for the early hour.

"You're chipper this morning," he grumbled, squinting his eyes against the glare off the ocean—why was the sun so bright? Had it always been like that?

"This morning?" Eoin laughed as he started to undo the array of bags tied to Beau's saddle, bags that had taken precedence over Gandriel on their trip down to Portmouth, forcing him walk the whole way instead. "It's nearly two."

Gandriel glanced at the lofty clock tower that rose over the small port city and noted that, indeed, the hands were just shy of the hour. Fine, he was far too perky for this early in the afternoon.

"Besides, aren't you usually the cheery one? I don't think I've ever seen you look so dour."

Normally he was, but he was still recovering from Madam Terra's freshly homebrewed mead that she'd invited him to try at the Hen. He'd indulged himself on it to a bit of an excess the night before . . . and he'd puked, a lot. He also didn't remember most of the night, though he vaguely recalled Celeste's lecturing and her giving him a bucket, but after . . . well, not much.

"I don't remember you looking too pleased after our last outing at the Herring," Gandriel reminded Eoin, vividly recalling his drunken, impromptu dance number on the table tops and shot contest with Celeste that had ended with him praying for death while sprawled across the porch of the inn. "Lest you forget."

Eoin laughed unashamedly and flipped his mop of brown hair out of his eyes. "Yes, but I didn't piss off the captain in the process."

Gandriel flinched. Celeste had been pricklier than usual that morning when she'd ripped his blankets from him and told him to get up, no doubt livid about having to check after Isabelle on her on own, especially after the courtesan had nearly died from an assassin's attack. He'd felt terrible about it but Anelisse had only shook her head, warning him to keep his mouth shut.

He groaned, willing the memories to return.

Rarely did he drink to such an excess that he blacked out, in fact he was rather impressed he'd somehow managed to find his way home as he had absolutely no recollection of the night before.

Nothing up until he'd heard his friend sneak into the apartment late in the night, her features wan and looking prime to collapse at any moment. She hadn't looked any better that morning, barely speaking her greetings before they'd set off into the faint light of dawn.

Had he not been so ill he'd have asked after her but decided that slurring his concerns would only get him an ass kicking. So, he'd focused on sobering up and watched her from a distance, alarmed by her subdued aura.

Maybe she was still pissed off about his late-night partying . . . he grimaced at the thought. A few hours still remained before their departure, he still had time to slink back into town and grab her a box or two of the truffles he'd spied in the window of the confectioner's shop. One could never go wrong with candy as an apology gift.

He'd grab something for Anelisse too, likely some of the hard fruit candies she'd voiced an interest in. He couldn't let her go without either.

Yawning, Gandriel stretched his arms above his head as he watched Eoin heft up their freed bags and began lugging them onto the ship. He really should help, he noted as the young man shouted to the crew, but he was tired and wanted to nap . . .

"There you are." He jumped as Celeste materialized beside him in that terrifying way of hers, her features covered in the dark cowl she always wore in public. She peered up at him in amusement, violet eyes twinkling. "How's the hangover?"

"Horrible, but I'll be fine." She quirked her head at him and grinned, some of the color having returned to her face. Well, she didn't seem that pissed. "Eoin's loading our supplies now, I should take Beau down to the stables for boarding."

Gandriel had arranged for the stableboys to have extra sugar cubes and apples in supply for the gelding while they were gone, hoping the array of treats would serve as an apology for the numerous fiascos he'd put him through.

"Later, we need to debrief with Fallon and Vaerek. Apparently Avi was able to glean some additional information while out in the cove, they're all waiting for us at the dock."

He blinked, taken aback that Avi was with them-he'd never had the honor of meeting the lady before. At least, not up close and in her fae form.

Dipping his chin, he motioned for Celeste to lead the way. He'd heard numerous stories about the selkie spy who served as Fallon's main source of information, and who, apparently, was also Vaerek's lover. Upon finding out he'd tried to tease his fellow first mate about it but had promptly closed his mouth when the stern man had cut him a look.

Fine, he could keep his selkie maiden and her secrets to himself then. And given what the first mate's tastes were like he imagined she was likely the loveliest of her kind.

His mother had told him many stories of the elusive selkie maidens as a child, of their extraordinary beauty and fabled coats that would turn you into a seal if you could acquire one. He'd thereafter proclaimed in his childlike innocence that he'd find himself a selkie lover and would become the lord of the seals. His mother had laughed at his theatrics.

And while his mother had assured him that selkie coats weren't real she'd said their beauty was no myth. Not that he'd ever seen it, he noted a bit sadly, having only seen Avi in her seal form as she, Vaerek and Fallon had argued back and forth on the docks months ago, the latter barking her displeasure.

Avi had been running intel on slaving routes elsewhere when Fallon and Vaerek had intercepted Gandriel and Celeste in the Red Maiden so many months prior and had run off without informing her where they'd disappeared to. She'd apparently been furious and had chewed them out thoroughly.

Gandriel and Anelisse had nearly laughed themselves silly at the sight of the fearsome duo arguing with the whiskered, round sea dog. It seemed she'd won the argument easily though, Fallon and Vaerek walking off with soured faces as they'd boarded the boat.

He was still uncertain as to how the sea captain and her first mate understood what the female said while in her seal form. Was seal a learnable language? Maybe he'd ask Avi to teach him after they met, it'd certainly be a useful skill.

"Hello," Celeste was snapping her fingers in front of his face, shattering his inner musing, "anybody awake in there? We've a meeting we need to start."

"Right, sorry." He needed tea, and food too, he noted as his stomach grumbled its agreement. Celeste rolled her eyes as she strolled down the long dock toward an agitated Vaerek who was glaring at a pleased-looking Avi, her tail flicking up and down.

Gandriel was willing to bet she was tall and curvy, with wavy hair that was dark as night. If he'd had anyone to gamble with he would have put coin on it.

"I had to find my lost ass." Celeste jabbed a finger over her shoulder towards Gandriel as she came to a stop. Vaerek flicked his gaze up and lifted a hand in greeting, Avi swung her head around and winked one of her large, liquid eyes. "Where's Fallon?"

"Supposed to be here," Vaerek grumbled, glaring out across the bay. Avi nudged his leg with her head and barked at him; the man blushed up to his ears. "Must you?"

If it was possible for a seal to give a look of seduction that was what Avi sent Vaerek, wiggling her sleek body. Gandriel couldn't contain the snicker. Sensing his attention, she turned back to him and barked before rolling over onto her back.

Vaerek rubbed at his eyes. "You're just being shameless now, would you please just shift back?"

The seal snorted in annoyance before righting herself and dissolving into a flash of bright white. Gandriel had prepared numerous compliments for the lovely female that died on his lips as he choked back his surprise as the selkie's fae form materialized. He spluttered.

Where a seal had sat moments before now stood the most stunning male he had ever seen. The selkie's rich, dark brown hair pulled away from his angled face in a low ponytail and his large, dark eyes twinkled as he straightened his deep teal jacket, broad shoulders tapering into a lean waist, the sun glinting off exquisite blades strapped all over his body.

"DAD!" The vibration of footfalls thudded on the dock as Fallon rushed down its length and threw herself at Avi who easily caught her. She kicked her legs in the air as he spun her around.

"Hello, pup." He placed a quick kiss against her cheek as he squeezed her and set her down. "Wreaking havoc in town, I hope?"

"Of course." Fallon flipped her hair over a shoulder and adjusted her ridiculous hat, her hands immediately settling on her hips. "Did you bring me anything? Oh, I hope it's a pretty necklace."

"Like you need more jewelry," Vaerek muttered, his arms crossed over his chest, even as his lips curled into a small smile. Avi paid him no attention.

"Of course," he fished around in a pocket and procured a beautiful green pearl on a golden chain, eliciting a squeal from Fallon as he clipped it gently around her neck. The male winked at Vaerek. "Don't worry, I have something for you, too."

Quicker than Gandriel could track, Avi had swept Vaerek up in his arms, dipping the sailor as he kissed him deeply. Vaerek spluttered, his face turning the color of a tomato as he shoved at Avi, trying to dislodge him. The selkie took his time before righting the man, smiling as he reached to smooth Vaerek's windswept hair away from his face.

Celeste let out an amused grunt from beside him.

"Better?" Avi purred.

The first mate slapped his hand away.

" _Averett!_ " Gandriel hadn't thought it was possible for a human to turn such a color of scarlet. "Could you . . . just . . . not?" Vaerek hissed as he rubbed at his red face. "There goes what little's left of my reputation!"

"Don't worry, there wasn't much," Fallon piped up, admiring the pearl around her neck. Avi threw his head back, a deep booming laugh slipping past his lips.

Averett, that was a boy's name. Not a girl's. Gandriel's shell-shocked mind finally kicked back in, questions flowing from his lips.

Definitely not a selkie maid.

"You're male!"

Avi stopped laughing as he looked at Gandriel, horror washing over his sharp features.

"I am?" He pulled the front of his pants forward, peering into their depths. He whipped his head to Vaerek, his deep, smooth voice full of disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me? I've been living a lie all this time—"

"Give it a rest," Vaerek grumbled, face still cherry, as he gave Avi a long-suffering look. Gandriel was dumbfounded, staring in disbelief at the male before him.

"You seriously didn't know?" Celeste looked at him with disdain before snorting. "Of course not. Why am I not surprised?"

"But . . . but you said Avi was a girl—" Though now that he thought on it, had they ever actually specified Avi was a female? He'd just always assumed. And all the stories his mother had told him . . . "I thought you were all females," he gaped at the tall male, "I mean, all of the legends—the stories—"

Avi cut in easily, talking like a parent to a young, naïve child. "Well you see, when a daddy seal loves a mommy seal very much-"

"—they do this thing called copulation and make all sorts of little spawn—" Fallon jumped in.

Avi wrapped his arms around the captain and squeezed as she giggled. "—like this thing. Brave of Vaerek to go through the trial of bringing her into the world—"

"Don't finish that sentence," Vaerek growled, turning red once more, "that's enough out of both of you."

"But it's Dad's favorite story!" Fallon quipped, tapping her lips with a slim finger. "You know how much he loves the gory bits."

"Yes, love, your inspiring story of perseverance and resilience—"

"Wait, is Avi your real father?" Gandriel peered at the tall lord, searching for resemblance between him and the seductive sea Captain. "And does that mean you're actually Vaerek's lover—"

"Is that a problem?" An icy tone had slipped into Vaerek's voice as he glared at Gandriel, eyes narrowing.

Gandriel immediately backpeddled. "I don't mean—it's not like that, it's just—he, you—" he looked at Avi, "You were a girl, a beautiful selkie maiden and now you're a male, and . . . uh . . ."

"Gandriel's going to need to see a healer to get his foot removed from his mouth," Celeste added with a chuckle, casting him a look from beneath her hood. "I'd shut up if I were you."

He blushed up to his ears. He'd meant no offense, he just hadn't expected Avi to be male. Had been fully expecting to finally meet a beautiful selkie maiden. Maybe he shouldn't have drank so much, he noted as his mind and vision wobbled, he wasn't thinking clearly.

Fallon gave a bright, trilling laugh.

"No, Gandriel, Avi's not my real father and neither is Vaerek." Avi looked primed to revolt, to inform her that she was most certainly his real child. "They took me in when I very small."

"And loud," Vaerek said with a shake of his head, his skin turning from a blotchy red back to its usual even tan. He found a very interesting piece of lint on his shoulder.

"And perfect." Avi gave a soft smile as he pulled Fallon's hat up so he could ruffle her dark tresses before settling it gently back into place and rearranging a loose strand. His voice lost its playful tone. "As fun as this has been, pup, we do have some problems we need to address."

"Problems?" Fallon turned to face her father. "I thought you said you had intel on the newest ships?"

"I do," he leaned against the post of the dock, looking out over the glistening bay, "and it's not good."

* * *

Celeste tried to keep her grinning to a minimum as she listened as Avi's recollected the information he'd managed to collect from the carrier vessels. Gandriel was still in shock, his cheeks a rosy pink as he kept his lips tightly sealed.

She knew he'd meant no harm, but it didn't make the situation any less hilarious.

Anelisse was going to lose her damn mind once she told her sister about his little mistake. How had he somehow missed that Avi was male? She'd thought it was fairly obvious.

Honestly, she found herself grateful for his idiocy for once . . . it'd helped distract her from the thoughts of them, from the never ending pain that rushed through her head when she dwelled on it.

Avi's voice picked up in tempo as he repeated the details he'd managed to gather, and Celeste's lips downturned as she processed the information. Two large ships with minimal guards and warded to hell. Neither he nor any of his men had managed to get past the magic barriers, stronger, he claimed, than faebane.

"I don't like you going out after these." Avi sent a soft look towards Fallon as he rolled his shoulders, before flicking his attention to Celeste and Gandriel. "Any of you. Something is off, it's making me uneasy."

"We can handle it," Fallon dusted off her pants, the new green pearl around her neck glinting in the sunlight. "We've no choice but to go, but the information is helpful, Dad, thank you."

He stepped forward to stop her, grabbing her hand. "I mean it, pup, I don't think you should be going against this alone, even with your storm wielder." A glance towards Gandriel. "Give me a few more days, just a little longer to see if I can find a way around those wards and see what the hell they're doing."

Celeste had an odd feeling she could get past them, a hunch that she could unravel such a spell, that she'd spent some time in her forgotten youth doing just that.

Fallon shook her head. "We don't have the time. They're going to make it to port if we don't intercept them now. We can't afford to lose anyone on board those ships." Her tone left no room for argument as she looked up at her father, squeezing his hand tightly. "Besides, if you haven't gotten any information yet, a few more days isn't going to make a difference."

"Did you get a count on the captives?" Celeste inquired, her mind turning through what was different about this shipment. The whole thing was fishy. "A solid count on the arms they might have?"

"No," Avi didn't let his daughter's hand go as he spoke, instead pulling her under an arm. "The wards are making it impossible to even eavesdrop when they pull into port. You're going in completely blind."

"Fallon's right, we'll manage." Celeste nodded at Fallon and was pleased when her fellow captain returned the gesture, slipping out of her father's hold. With Gandriel's power and the other array of magic wielders they had among their crews they could handle it. "We need to take off soon, we've only a week to catch them. We can plan on the way."

Avi grumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Vaerek put a supportive hand on his arm.

"We've been through worse, I'm certain we can handle this." Avi patted his lover's hand.

"I'm aware, but it doesn't bring me any comfort. Fallon, is that male of yours joining?"

She crowed a laugh. "Absolutely not, I sent him to Marchedor to move an informant to a safehouse. I can't have him distracting me from work. He's to meet us when we return."

Avi gave her an amused look, as though he read into something that everyone else missed. He rolled his neck experimentally.

"Then I'll go with you, an extra set of hands can't hurt."

"Don't you have more work to do? We can't just shut down the network because you're afraid we're going to get hurt. I've never failed and don't intend to start doing so now." Fallon smirked, tilting her chin arrogantly.

"It's not up for discussion, pup," Avi smiled brightly at Celeste, offering her out a calloused hand, well accustomed to blades. "By the way, it's a pleasure to finally meet you face to face." He sent an amused look at Gandriel, who was blatantly avoiding making eye contact. "Both of you."

Celeste shook his hand in return. "Same to you, Avi."

Releasing his hold, the selkie glanced toward the _Siren_ and _Loreley_ docked side by side. "I need to let my men know I'm leaving. I'll join you before you set off." He turned back to them with a smirk. "And you, storm wielder," Gandriel grudgingly flicked his attention to Avi, "make sure we get out of this in one piece and I'll introduce to as many selkie females as you'd like."

Gandriel puffed his cheeks, as he sheepishly muttered, "I don't need selkie females, I have Anelisse."

"I'm certain she'd be thrilled to meet some of the males though," Celeste nudged Gandriel playfully in the ribs, knowing full well that her sister who was now loaded on the _Loreley_ would be thrilled to have more painting subjects, "now come on, we've work to do before we set off."


	51. Of Hell Sprites and Fabric Swatches

"Well, aren't you grumpy this morning?" Mor chirped at Cassian, wrapped in a sweater colored in her signature red as she assessed him with a raised brow. She'd appeared minutes ago outside the Brown Hen, her eyes flicking to the less-than-pristine inn. He'd spent the night tossing and turning as he fumbled with his emotions, reflecting on the foolish hope he'd so desperately acted on.

He'd spent hours staring at the painting, willing the features to memory, trying to figure out how the young painter had managed to capture her likeness when her sister was a blurry duplicate at best.

Unsatisfied, he'd even risen at the crack of dawn and made his way back to the painter's stall, pushing through the waking square, only wanting to talk to her one more time, just to be certain. Much to his dismay, he'd found it empty and boarded up, and had been informed by an elderly baker who had just arrived to set up her own wares for the day that the young woman wouldn't be back for some time.

He'd nearly donned a syphon to demolish the structure in his frustration but decided against it, not wanting to destroy an innocent bystander's livelihood to release his emotional turmoil. Not to mention he didn't want to add Marchedor to the list of cities he was banned from, not that he ever intended to return.

Cassian adjusted his bag on his back, the painting wrapped tightly and strapped across it, before offering a hand out, ready to winnow.

"Take me home."

"That bad?" The blonde huffed a laugh, her red lips upturning at the corners. "Don't tell me, you lost all your money gambling," a nod at his nearly empty satchel, "got into a fist fight with a noble—"

"I said, take me home, Mor, please." Weariness settled over him, leaching to his bones. "I want to leave."

The female stopped, her smile slowly dissipating as she watched him intently, searching his features. He bared his teeth at her.

"Don't start your 'truth' bullshit."

Her eyes narrowed questioningly, soil-toned orbs darkening.

"What happened?"

He tore a hand through his hair, still tangled from the night before, his patience failing. He was unwilling to let Mor see what'd he'd failed to find, to spare her feelings. "Just take me home."

Back to Velaris, to the city he'd called home for hundreds of years that'd he'd bleed himself to protect, back to the city that didn't harbor false promises of something they'd never get back. He planned to head to her valley the second he touched down in the Riverside Estate.

No, he'd find Nesta first, then leave. He craved the touch of his mate, her solid presence. She never spoke of it, but she'd visited the lily-covered valley often, they both had. She would go.

Mor said nothing else as she took his hand and they disappeared into shadows and wind, Marchedor melting into nothingness behind them.

* * *

Azriel felt more than saw when Mor and Cassian winnowed into the Riverside Estate, the latter landing so violently the house shook. The sound of stomping feet and grumbling told Azriel his brother was pissed.

Unsurprising.

At least he'd managed to stay the whole time in Marchedor.

He'd half expected Cassian to cave partway through the meeting and insist someone come get him, likely threatening the structural the integrity of the city if his demands weren't met.

It remained to be seen if he'd broken anything or anyone, however, Azriel considered as he sipped from the cup of tea in his hands. It didn't matter, he'd had the pleasant reprieve of spending a few uninterrupted days with Elain because of it.

He'd draft the apology letters and damage estimates later.

"Well, he doesn't sound pleased," Elain noted from behind the pile of fabric swatches scattered across the table. Azriel had been helping her sift through them, watching as she debated between two shades of pinkish-orange that he had trouble distinguishing from each other. Her lovely face crinkled. "I'm guessing things on the continent didn't go well."

We'll know soon enough, Azriel thought wryly, leaning back in his chair as the door to the kitchen blew open, Cassian a storm on the other side. He'd been prepared for an array of complaints and grievances from his brother, knowing that while Cassian had indeed volunteered to go in his stead, he'd never been well suited to such gatherings.

He hadn't been prepared for the silence or the devastation poorly hidden on Cassian features, however. The shadows at his shoulders began to whisper, skittering as his brother closed in.

Azriel straightened in his chair, Elain doing the same beside him.

Something had gone wrong.

Cassian didn't seem to notice as he dug through his pack and procured two wrapped packages, handing one gently to Elain and the other to Azriel, the paint he'd requested from the smell of it, and turned to leave without so much as a word slipping past his lips.

The shadowsinger watched his brother slump as he turned to the door, his pack limp across his back, his arms around a large square mass covered in his cloak. He'd seen something that had upset him, terribly.

Azriel frowned. He should have gone. He stood, making to follow, when an equally startled Elain chimed in.

"How was the meeting?"

Cassian paused and turned, his eyes distant as he addressed her with unusual grumpiness. "Fine." He flicked his attention toward Azriel. "I'll debrief with you later."

There was finality in his voice; he was in no mood to talk. He was nearly through the doorway when Elain continued.

"Where are you going?" She directed a brief, concerned look to Azriel, her hands sitting atop the forgotten scraps of fabric before turning her attention back to Cassian.

No teasing, no obnoxious attempts to get a rise from him. Just quiet rage.

"To find Nesta."

And that was it. He was gone before another word could be said.

Mor materialized in the empty spot where Cassian had disappeared, cringing as the front door slammed behind him.

"Well?" Azriel asked Mor, locking gazes with the soft eyes that had once held sway over the most fundamental parts of him, before they'd been replaced with another, more beautiful caramel pair. He felt Elain's attention on him.

Mor shrugged, shaking her head.

"I think he lost all his money gambling." She ran a hand through her golden curls, indifferent. "You know how he is. He'll be fine."

* * *

"Damn it," Nesta hissed as she kicked the hell sprite off her, sloughing the last limp body to the side, the monster's contorted face at an odd angle. Panting, she forced herself upright, her body aching from battle, hundreds of their swelled corpses limp around her from where she'd slaughtered her way through the hive.

She'd infiltrated and killed an entire nest hunting one of their Queens, searching for any information she could gather from the ears of the woods. Unfortunately, when questioned, the grotesque bitch had only smiled and hissed a few obscure words before exploding, her young crawling out of her and swarming Nesta.

It had taken hours, but she'd felled them all. And was no closer to finding Valka.

Even the shadow lurkers had been useless, having no knowledge to offer her of Valka's whereabouts - not a single detail.

She'd interrogated one beast after the other, receiving the same cryptic reply again and again: " _The orphan of the beast walks our land hidden. The lady of shadow circles, drawing ever nigh, she who wields the world hunts you, thief. Life and Death, sides of an elegant coin, she seeks."_

She'd snapped their necks in her fury, burning them away with the power that crawled beneath her skin.

Their vague, haughty words did little to soothe her icy wrath, only amplifying it. She'd been threatened before, weak little vermin hunting her for the power that lay beneath her skin. It didn't faze her any longer. But to hear the same message repeated . . .

Sheathing her blade down her spine, she gazed across the damp forest around her, the scent of an oncoming storm saturating the air.

The earth recoiled beneath her, like the very fabric of her being chased away life, sending it receding to the darkest depths trying to avoid her touch. She'd stopped registering it years ago when it first began, but now . . . it was different.

Instead of a retraction it was a shattering, like the very ground she walked stilled beneath her, cracking down to its very core.

Her power was still a quiet hum beneath her skin, silent and waiting.

Stepping around the corpses, she made to exit the hive hidden deep in the glen. It was like the world itself was contorting, magic flickering in odd and erratic patterns. It hung heavy like the oncoming clouds, roiling with flashes of lightning.

Like a witch accumulating power in the night.

Nesta kicked one of the sprites' bodies out of her way, its bones crunching nastily as she ducked beneath the silk of the hive and strode out into the forest. She still had a couple more nests should could try, a few more spots in the wilderness that she hadn't searched.

Something inside her knew that Valka was still out there somewhere, and she wouldn't stop her searching until she'd found her.

She was about to make her way up the adjacent hill when the bond she'd hushed to silence flared to life, pulling tight and demanding, an incessant tug. She didn't bother to look up as the air hollowed out above her, the pounding of wings echoing throughout the forest before a shudder reverberated through the earth.

She flicked her gaze to the warrior who walked toward her, Cassian's shoulders back as he folded his wings in, flashing her his signature grin, though its tilt was a little too forced and his shoulders a little too tense to be pleased.

Nesta didn't even wait for him to finish his approach before she raised her voice.

"What happened?" Cassian's eyes flickered in the way they did when he knew he'd been compromised, his lies crumbling to dust beneath her assessment.

"Bullshit, I don't want to talk about it—" his eyes snagged on the nest behind her, the stench of decay leaching out. Her mate blinked, looking only slightly startled.

"Why hell sprites? They're nasty bastards." He sniffed once, confirming his suspicions. "And a Queen?" She saw the protective nonsense begin to unspool, his chest puffing insufferably. "By yourself. I'd ask what you were thinking but I don't think you'd bother with honesty anyway."

Oh, he was certainly in a foul temper, his tone less than sympathetic. A tone that said he was in no mood to argue with her in any capacity. A tiny part of Nesta softened with concern, her pride bending the slightest fraction.

"They gather information like bees gather pollen." She attempted to wipe the gore from her hands off onto her leathers but only succeeded in smearing it more. "I still haven't found her."

Dull relief filled Cassian's eyes as she answered honestly, looking glad that he wouldn't be waging a war on numerous fronts this afternoon. He replied with a halfhearted, "Ah." He rubbed at his jaw. "Where the hell has she gotten off to?"

"I'm trying to figure that out." She flexed her hands, realizing just how disgusting they were, coated in the foul slime of the sprites. Bathing was a top priority now, even if the need to find Valka took precedence. "Why are you here?"

Her mate turned his gaze away from her, avoiding her eye contact. He was very upset then, so much so he'd sought out her company of all things. She pushed her hunt to the back of her mind and stepped forward, resting her hand on Cassian's bicep.

"Where do you want to go?"

He looked at her, emotion filling his gaze. He seemed appreciative of her bluntness as always, that she never pushed him for things he didn't want to give. "The valley."

She didn't even question after it as she squeezed his arm, they'd done this time and time again throughout the years, the other never asking why, only being present. She would hold him through the worst of it if needed.

The words of the shadow creatures faded in her mind as that overwhelming bond overtook her, saturating her in an array of emotions that she still struggled to understand.

"Then let's go." She paused, looking behind her, trying to find the bushes she'd seen before entering the hive—she spied them easily and jogged across the valley, the warrior following behind at a distance.

Slipping a knife free from her belt, she sliced the red Highland roses from the bush, handing the thorny stems and buds to her mate one at a time. He'd never forgotten them on a single visit and she certainly wouldn't let him start now.

"We'll find her." His voice was gravely but resolute. "Valka's still out there, I can feel it."

"Yes." Nesta laid another flower into his palm; she had no doubt about it. She only hoped she'd find her while she was still breathing. It'd be over her dead body that she'd let anything happen to the young female.

"We won't lose another, not again." Nesta's knife paused as she glanced sidelong at her mate, his hands holding the flowers a little too tightly, blood pooling beneath their thorns. "I swear it on my life."

What had happened in Marchedor? She'd only see this type of weakness and uncertainty in his face when he felt he'd failed in a way that was irredeemable. As though he sensed the question forming on her lips, he stiffly shook his head.

"Just don't ask, Nesta, it's not worth getting into."

Nesta dipped her chin once, he would speak when he was ready. But in the meantime . . .

Before he could continue, she rose up on her toes and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, lingering for a moment. The tension began to melt out of his shoulders instantly as he swept her up, his face buried in her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him, mindful to keep the worst of the slime off him.

"Together."

Her words were his underdoing, a sigh of reprieve escaping his lips as tugged her closer and nipped at her neck, causing her toes to curl in her boots.

The brutish fool with a heart of gold that she'd hated so adamantly had somehow planted himself in the center of her existence, had become such a vital piece that she didn't know if she could bear to exist without him. He was the piece she'd spent so many years believing that she didn't deserve. And to see him such disarray . . .

His guilt broke the most fundamental parts of her.

He'd started under the collar of her leathers when she stopped him with a grimy hand to his chest.

"Not here, idiot." She pushed him, even as his grumbled his discontent. "I will not touch you or let you touch me covered in this filth." She had some standards.

"I wouldn't mind it." A flicker of his usual fire came to life in his eyes, his lips finally pulling back in a true grin.

She rolled her eyes and pushed herself away from him. Count on the needs of males to take precedence over hygiene-she was certain he wouldn't like whatever nasty little parasites he'd be left to deal with if she granted him his wish.

"Later." Nesta motioned toward the roses he'd dropped when he'd swept her up. He muttered his curses and gently picked up the delicate flowers, straightening their petals. "To the valley first." She looked at the forest around her, the silence poisonous, wondering just where her lieutenant was in the vast wilderness, if she was even there at all. "Then we hunt for Valka."


	52. Goats Milk

Cenric had been hunting on one of the high ridges off the western cliffs near his newest camp location, tracking a herd of sure-footed goats in the late morning sun, when he hit the magical boundary. The invisible ward had sent his magic flaring, pouring out of him in an unexpected tidal wave. His power snapped the feeble thing beneath its might with enough force to send him flying.

He landed with a crunch in a pile of detritus, an array of sticks and rocks digging sharply into his spine.

Well, so much for not using it, he thought sourly as he stared up at the cloudless sky, even as the pressure in his head eased instantaneously.

He blew his hair out of his face.

The power roiling beneath his skin had been seeking a release for weeks now, ever since his last little blow out when he'd gotten a nose full of pollen while searching for berries and had leveled an entire grove of trees when he'd sneezed. He still felt bad for the flock of birds and wildlife that fled in wake of it.

At least he hadn't demolished any foliage this time.

He'd only wanted to find a goat for some milk and attempt to make cheese, having woken with a craving for it. Boredom had rapidly become his greatest enemy out in the wilderness as the weeks had drug on, and he was growing tired of his diet of foraged fruits and hunted game.

Game he loathed killing, even if it eased his insatiable hunger that was entirely unsatisfied by the array of legumes and nuts he'd managed to gather. He'd thoroughly enjoyed the soup and food his father had brought him, even if he was unwilling to admit it.

His fury with his mother remained unchanged, and he flatly refused to even enter Velaris or one of the small Illyrian shops for supplies on principle.

He'd made a decision and was determined to stick to it.

Groaning, he sat up, rotating his shoulder as he glared at the crudely-drawn ward carved into the cliff face, invisible at first glance, no doubt one of a set designed to isolate the area. It had been surprisingly potent, especially given that it had immediately triggered his magic.

The real question was, who had rendered it and why? And in the middle of the wilderness of the Steppes, miles and miles away from any camps or patrols? As far as Cenric recalled none of the warriors he'd encountered had any knowledge of setting wards, only the use of the primal raw power that they funneled through their siphons.

Curiosity took Cenric as he rose and approached the mark, running his fingers over its surface. It looked like it had been carved with a dull knife, hastily scraped into the dense stone. Had he stumbled on one of the rebels' hideouts? The ones Azriel and his father had spent decades tracking down?

They were surely abandoned at this point . . . and if not . . .

The scent of cool, stale air caught his attention as he spied a narrow natural cave entrance tucked inconspicuously behind a boulder. Palming the dagger at his hip, he made his way toward it, summoning a tendril of power. He could permit himself to use his magic to do a bit of hunting.

Though his emotional wounds had smoothed over at last he wasn't above continuing the chase, especially if it meant catching a few stragglers, even if the use of the wards set warning bells off in his mind. The Illyrians were known for their brute power, not for rendering magical traps.

And if not Illyrian rebels, perhaps he'd find an old hermit who'd have some information on how to make the cheese he was so desperately craving.

Slipping into the narrow passage, he saw that the entrance was rounded, nearly a foot taller than him and about two feet wider, ideal for someone to slip into and find their way into a natural cavern - an excellent place to hide.

Cenric kept his footing beneath him as he walked soundlessly into the darkness, bracing his knees as the natural tunnel began to slope down into the earth, the light fading rapidly behind him. The passage was silent, only the soft scuff of his boots keeping him company.

Down, down he walked for several long minutes, maneuvering around narrow curves in the tunnel, turning and ducking to accommodate them.

The cave walls looked as if they had been polished beneath the hands of running water, their surfaces smoothed to the point of near luster, even in the blackness that he walked through. This cavern had been there for a long time.

Just as he was about convinced he would find nothing and was considering lighting the faelight in his pocket to find his way out, he caught sight of the slightest flickering of light, spilling over into the mouth of the tunnel's exit. Slowing his pace, he crept past the final turn and found himself in a large cavern saturated with fresh scents. The source of the light appeared to be a low-burning lantern sitting in the far corner of the room.

Slowly, he inched forward, examing the array of items spread through the space: maps, weapons, rugged clothes all arranged in a way that told him someone was actively living there. He whirled at a slight scuffle of feet on stone, then found himself plunged into impenetrable blackness as the lantern was extinguished, immediately followed by a blow to his gut, knocking the breath from him.

Oh, someone was certainly here.

Scrambling to counter, he swung blindly in the dark, sending a tendril of dark magic flying that missed as his assailant nimbly dodged. Dipping to the right to try to reorient himself, he felt something catch behind his leg, then a shove that sent him tumbling backwards.

Prepared for such a maneuver, he rolled with the movement, catching himself on his knees. He dug in his heels and attempted to rise but was met with boot slamming down onto his spine, forcing him to the cave floor.

"Don't move."

Cenric froze. He knew that voice.

Breathless, he let his assailant kick him over, something sharp leveling itself at his throat. He squinted as the lantern flared to life again, casting sharp shadows over the pretty, birdlike features and stone-grey eyes above him.

"Valka?"

She glared down at him, her dark hair loose around her shoulders.

Relief washed through him as he fully registered who was standing above him, whole, very much alive, and looking for all the world like she was seriously considering shoving a spear through his throat.

"Valka, it's me, Cenric."

It took the female a moment to register who she'd attacked.

Upon recognizing him she snarled, her lips peeling back in irritation.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." She kicked him none-too-gently in the side, sending a stinging pain through his hip. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you even find me?"

He felt a blush rush up his cheeks, feeling rather foolish. "I was . . . hunting goats to make cheese."

The words sounded even more moronic as he spoke them.

She blinked as though she didn't quite believe what he'd just said. Leaning forward she looked him over before grousing and pulling the weapon away from his throat. "Why the hell are you out _here_ hunting goats? Surely you can get every variety of cheese your heart desires in that little city of starlight."

Lowering the weapon, she reached out her free hand to help him up, he grasped it tightly. The small female yanked him upright with ease, stalking back across the room to hang her lantern from a crude hook. Straightening, Cenric smiled as he looked her over. She'd healed up nicely, it seemed, even if her leathers were a bit worse for wear. He could still make out where she'd patched the puncture holes from where she'd been shot.

Regardless, the fear that he hadn't realized had been knotted in his chest began to ease. He glad to see that she'd merely left the Ironwood camp and hadn't been taken, or worse.

But why was she this far out?

Surely she knew his family harbored no ill feelings toward her and that she was free from any persecution regardless of her adopted lineage? And how long had he been searching for her? He'd been keeping his eyes and ears open for any clue about her whereabouts, and to just stumble upon her in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of the Steppes . . .

Watching her grey eyes flick over him, he felt something else twist in his gut.

Had she always been quiet so….pretty?

She seemed none the wiser to his revelation, looking uneasy as she glanced up the path that he'd descended from.

"Did anyone follow you?" Valka turned her attention back to him, her mouth in a harsh line, wings flaring behind her. She narrowed her eyes as she paused and glanced around before cursing. "You broke my wards, didn't you?"

Oh, they had been _her_ wards. Sheepishness crept in.

"I'm sorry, it was just me." He ran his fingers through his unruly hair, unsure how to proceed. "How are you, by the way?" He nearly slapped himself in the forehead at his awkwardness, thankfully the room was still dark. "I mean, I haven't seen you since . . . well, you almost died." He cringed. "Why are you out here?"

"Oh, I took a nice long stroll in nature, ended up eating a handful of mushrooms and have decided to pursue the life of a wise woman." Valka halfheartedly threw the spear at him, which he easily caught. He watched as she rummaged through a pile of weapons, all freshly polished and laid out as though for quick access. "What the hell do you _think_ I'm doing?" She looked up long enough to gesture around at her supplies and crude quarters.

"Why?" Confusion filled Cenric as he sifted through possible reasons for her seclusion and found no obvious answer. "You're in no trouble with the clans, and if you're fearful you could always stay in Velaris—" Despite his anger with his mother he'd make peace long enough to keep Valka safe, if necessary.

Even if it would kill his pride to do so.

It would be unnecessary, he realized as she crowed a mocking laugh.

"You're a fool if you think your city's pretty shields will help me." Valka pulled free a blunt dagger engraved with old runes along its hilt, likely the same one she'd originally scratched her wards with, and pointed it at him. "And you need to go." She gestured toward the cave's entrance. "Get the hell out and don't come back."

"Valka," caution filled Cenric's voice as the thought of something threatening her registered, "what are you talking about? The rebellion is over, who could possibly be after you—?"

"Someone and something you can't fight, blue eyes," she responded as she grabbed him none too gently by the arm and began dragging him back to the tunnel. "And it's been great to see you again but our little adventure is long over so if you'd so kindly fuck off—"

He dug his heels in as his stubbornness took hold. Clearly, she was in some sort of danger and therefore in need of assistance. He certainly owed it to her, especially after she'd saved his ass in the Rite. And it wasn't like he was doing anything else anyway.

The female hissed as she tugged harder at him, looking as though she were contemplating just picking him up tossing him out the cave entrance herself. Cenric refused to move.

"Try me." For what she'd done for him he'd gladly face whoever or whatever was after her. Mother knew his magic would thank him for directing it outward to destroy whatever it was.

"No." Valka pinched his shoulder hard enough to make him hiss, distracting him long enough for her to shove him forward, herding him another few steps toward the exit. "Now move that tight little ass of yours."

Did she just call his ass tight?

No, he needed to focus on the matter at hand-

"Valka, please." He turned to face her, realizing suddenly just how much taller and broader he was than her, even with the wings. "I owe it to you."

"Do _not_ make me drag you out of here, little lord."

The tone of her voice had shivers dancing up Cenric's spine. Oh, there was no doubt that she'd been trained by Nesta's hand. He squared his shoulders and held his ground; she wasn't his aunt's only student.

"I mean it, Valka. Talk."

She looked up at him with a snarl, eyes flashing in fury and pupils constricting in a way that he knew meant she was about to strike. After several long moments, she relented and shoved him roughly away.

"Fine. You want to help, you pushy bastard?" She pointed toward the cave entrance. "Fix the wards you broke, then get out."

* * *

The pain in Cenric's head had dissipated almost entirely as he poured his magic into the carvings that Valka had engraved on the various cliff surfaces. Remaking her wards hadn't been difficult and the magic bubbling beneath his skin had thanked him.

Pleased with his work, he lowered his hand from the mark and hopped down from the boulder he'd crawled atop to reach it. He nimbly landed next to Valka who was watching him with the intensity of a hawk contemplating its prey.

They'd hardly exchanged more than a few words, her irritation with him for breaking the wards in the first place still clear.

He cleared his throat.

"That should fix them and make them stronger too." He craned his neck, stretching out the knot forming in his right shoulder from holding his hand to the mark too long. "No one should be able to accidentally break them again."

"If it hadn't been for you, no one would have accidentally broken them."

He bit his lip, she had a point.

Valka looked off towards the horizon, the soft light of the early autumn sun swathing her cheeks in a beautiful golden hue and making the silver of her eyes burn in a way he couldn't help but take note of. She did look a little worse for wear, her normally silky hair knotted and the curve of her body less pronounced from her meager diet.

Regardless, he certainly didn't remember being quite so distracting in the Rite.

 _Except for the time you checked out her ass on the cliffs._

He slammed down on that infernal internal voice of his, willing its nonsensical prattling to stop. He refused to act anything like his father, he was a refined gentleman who didn't let such intrusive thoughts dominate his mental space. And in any case, he couldn't be held responsible for any blood loss-induced thoughts that might have occurred to him the last time he had seen the female.

"We've only got about an hour of daylight left. We need to move, the creatures of the forest are eager to hunt." Without even glancing his way, Valka flared her wings and easily glided down the cliff, landing softly on the plush green grass below. He watched her whole descent before he realized what he was doing and immediately followed, cursing his own lack of attention.

He'd no sooner hit the base of the cliff when Valka was upon him, eyes blazing in annoyance.

"You've done your part, now it's time for you to go," she pointed off to the golden rays filtering through the trees to the west. "Get back to wherever you came from before the sun sets. There are things out here that even your magic couldn't face. If you tell _anyone_ you have seen me, I will personally rip your spine out through your asshole—"

Cenric heard the crunch of sticks first, coming from the north side. He tuned out Valka as he focused on the presence, hoping it was just one of the stray mountain goats he'd been tailing most of the morning.

His magic recoiled as it brushed it, rallying around him defensively. The sun hadn't even set yet, surely they had at least a few more hours before the beasts began to hunt?

He heard the snort, the approach of heavy footsteps. They also weren't inside the boundaries of the wards.

"-And one more thing, you pushy, arrogant, male bastard-"

"Quiet," he snapped at Valka, feeling the hair on the back of his neck prickle. The female immediately stopped her lecturing, brows furrowing.

She caught the sound almost instantly, her eyes widening as she turned her head to the source.

They weren't waiting for the sun to go down this time.

The earth began to thud beneath Cenric's feet as the beast rushed them, its howling piercing the cool evening air. he didn't even give Valka a chance to bolt, instead simply picking her up and winnowing, sending them tumbling through shadow just as the beast pounced where they had been standing.

They hit the floor of Valka's cave with a crash.

"I absolutely fucking loathe you," her muffled voice hissed from beneath him, her breasts unusually soft against his chest. "I hope you die in a fire."

* * *

Fat lot of good threatening the dapper little lord had done her, Valka noted with no lack of annoyance as she watched him sitting across the fire from her, cobalt eyes shimmering as he ate the meager meal they'd managed to throw together from her stores.

She'd fully intended to kick him out entirely after he repaired all the wards she'd painstakingly erected months ago, but her plans had been thwarted when they'd been pounced on by one of the werebeasts of the Steppes.

So stupid of her to lose track of her surroundings like that. If it hadn't been for his winnowing she would have had to slay the damned thing, wasting time and risking injury, again. Then again, if he hadn't so rudely shattered her protection and invaded her makeshift home, she wouldn't have even been out at that hour.

The beasts were getting braver, to a point that Valka didn't even think hunting in daylight would protect her anymore. She certainly wasn't foolish enough to venture anywhere at night.

And even with his winnowing she didn't trust the idiot lord to get back to his wherever he'd come from in one piece, so she'd allowed him to stay the night. He was to leave in the morning, werebeast stalking about or no.

She still didn't know how the boy had somehow managed to knock out all seven of her wards when he'd stumbled into them like some fumbling toddler.

Fortunately for her, his knowledge of the subject was deeper and more practiced than her own, and he'd quickly repaired what he'd broken with ease, weaving the protections with more complexity and strength.

Mother knew she'd need every ounce of it that she could conjure. And against far more than just the nasty werebeasts.

She picked at the leg of rabbit on her makeshift plate, irritation filling her as her unwanted companion shot her what he must've thought was a covert glance for the hundredth time since they'd sat down for the evening.

He'd had the audacity to ask if she was feeling well after he'd realized she had an injured shoulder, a nasty gash she'd gotten in a tussle with one of the werebeasts weeks prior but that she'd been handling fine on her own.

Cenric had insisted on seeing it, acting like she was some broken doll that needed stitching.

She'd snapped back at him so harshly that she hoped it'd make him want to leave entirely, but instead she had only achieved the opposite. He'd insisted that if she were that stressed, injured, and unwilling to divulge any information then he'd just have to hang around to assist regardless.

And even though she begrudgingly admitted he had indeed been a huge help in packing and rewrapping her wound, going so far as to apply a salve that had finally driven the ache from the gash, she was beyond frustrated with the male.

Never had she wanted to scream so violently at someone, especially when he'd finally informed her of why he was out here in the first place. Some idiotic quarrel with his mother that had made him feel the need to prove his point in the way that males proved themselves best, by being an absolute obstinate jackass.

Valka could have happily kicked him from one of the cliffs for that alone. If only she had the luxury of indulging in such pettiness, but no, she was in the business of trying to stay alive and avoiding . . . it. She shuddered at the thought, trying not to dwell on the memory of what she'd glimpsed in the healing tent.

She'd fled immediately after, damning the consequences and praying she was capable of evading it as long as she could while she tried to figure out how she could break its hold or at least keep it off her scent long enough to determine another course of action.

And now she had the fool before her to deal with.

"You look upset, if you'd share what's bothering you I'm sure I could help you resolve it. I owe you anyway."

"As you've said for the hundredth time today," she groaned back, not bothering with pleasantness as she watched the male set down his empty plate, the small fire glimmering off the sharp planes of his face. "And the best way you can help is by leaving. Right out that passage, thanks, and please don't come again."

He merely rolled his eyes and eased back onto her bedroll, staring up at the ceiling of the cave. "The sooner you talk the sooner I'll go."

"We'll see if you'll be saying that when I make you leave in the morning."

He didn't even seem to register her words. Peering up at her through dark lashes, he looked over her shoulder again, tilting his head.

"Do you need more salve? I have other pain tonics as well."

"I need you to shut the hell up and go to sleep."

He clicked his tongue and lowered himself back onto her sleeping roll, his form more relaxed than she'd even seen him. It seemed completing the Rite had bought him peace.

Not that it had done even remotely the same for her, on the contrary the results of the damned ritual had made things a hundred times worse. Valka rose from her seat, exhaustion pulling at her mind in a way it hadn't done for some time.

She'd never admit it, but having the male watching her back that night gave her some fraction of peace.

"Get the hell off my bed, I want to sleep."

"Sorry."


	53. Emptying the Old Canteen

"They were supposed to be right here!" A nasty curse slipped past Fallon's lips, the flash of her bright hair dimmed in the murky light as the captain leaned forward across the railing, gazing into the gloom as though the missing ships might magically appear. "How did we miss them?"

Scowling, Celeste squinted as she struggled to peer through the dense fog Gandriel had shrouded the _Siren_ in, willing the shadowy shapes of sails to materialize between the tendrils of mist.

Nothing, only dark, churning waters crashing beneath the male's storm gales.

She felt him shift nervously on her right, her sister tucked in close on his other side, no doubt wondering the same thing she was—where the hell were they?

Celeste slipped her hand into her pocked and procured her map and compass, scanning the parchment as she recalculated their position, double checking the coordinates Isabelle had provided them with. Perhaps in the fog they'd sailed just a little off course, perhaps they needed to reroute a few miles north . . . no, they were in the right place.

Somehow, they'd missed the ships entirely.

Fallon swore filthily again, the heels of her boots thudding angrily into the deck as she strode away from the railing, barking orders to pull the sails and turn back to reconvene with the _Loreley_ where they'd left her anchored a few miles to the south, opting to risk only one ship as they confirmed their information. Celeste shoved the map away as she followed.

They'd been duped, whether through intentionally planted false information or rapidly changing routes she wasn't certain.

"Bastards! Arrogant, conniving pieces of swine-" Fallon was snarling in rage as she took the steps down to the main deck two at a time, Vaerek and Avi close on her heels. "By the Mother, when I get my hands around their throats—"

"Next steps," Celeste interrupted, sifting through what they might have missed, now debating whether any of Isabelle and the other girls' information was correct. "We need to act now before we lose this shipment entirely."

Lives, human and fae alike, were on that ship and at the mercy of the monsters who herded and drove them like cattle. They couldn't afford to lose a single one.

"Fine," Fallon whirled as they stepped onto the main deck, suddenly bustling with activity, "we track them the old-fashioned way. Dad," she nodded at the seal lord who immediately straightened, "can you scout to the west? If they've headed to port for the night it will be easy for us to catch them in the east, but if they've turned toward Prythian's shores . . ."

"Say no more," Avi dipped his head in acknowledgement before pecking his daughter's cheek and striding to the ship's edge, pulling his dark hair into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck. "I'll run the line toward the western shore then turn south, they'd be foolish to head north so close to Tamlin's territory in Spring."

At the mention of the Lord's name Celeste felt a tingle trace down her spine, like the phantom touch of an old memory. She shrugged out of the feeling. Gandriel froze beside her before exchanging concerned glance with her sister.

"Let them veer that far north, and perhaps the Lord of Beasts will decide to leave that pretty little rose house of his and actually contribute something."

Avi chuckled. "He sent you his best emissary, did he not?"

"'Best' isn't exactly the word I would use to describe Lucien, in any situation," Fallon replied dryly. "And as lovely as he is on the eyes, he's a bit useless on the sea front."

Celeste couldn't help but note the hint of defensiveness in the captain's tone or the fleeting look of amusement that crossed her father's features.

The selkie lord looked primed to quip something in return but seemed to think better of it before nimbly hopping up onto the railing.

"I'll reconvene with you tonight in Sandlock Harbor, it's the only port for hundreds of miles. If they're not there, then we've more to worry about that I initially thought."

Sandlock, as Fallon had earlier informed Celeste, lay due northeast, a tiny, tiny harbor town with only one small inn and tavern to service the few odd-end ships they received. It was certainly an excellent choice of harbor for a convoy of ships trying to keep a low profile; the people of Sandlock could care less about their visitors' intentions as long as they had the coin to pay.

Celeste had never even seen the village in question.

"Best hope that isn't the case," Vaerek muttered, watching Avi as he stood poised to leap into the ocean, something akin to concern flicking to life in his sharp gaze. The seal lord seemed none the wiser to it.

"Where else might they have headed if not there?" Gandriel inquired, his arm still draped protectively around Anelisse's slim waist.

"If our information is truly that inaccurate, it could have been a cover for them to head even further west, beyond Prythian," Celeste mused, considering the implications if the ship had slipped beyond the Courts' isle, to the country that had been shrouded in silence for the last hundred years.

Given their past stance on slavery, that dark island had been unusually silent in their recent dealings.

Gandriel's brow shot up at the implication, Anelisse's features only further marred by confusion.

Fallon sucked on a tooth. "If Hybern thinks to rear their hideous heads and stake a claim in this . . ." her voice tapered off as her face curled into a scowl. "It would be foolish of them to even try with the state of affairs after the war, and for something so superficial."

"It's been a hundred years," Anelisse blurted as Celeste watched the idea click in her mind, the short lessons she had taught her of what she could remember of fae history falling into place. "Surely a fae country could have rebuilt itself in a such a long span of time?"

Long for a mortal, Celeste thought somewhat sadly.

"Quite the opposite, little pearl," Avi interjected as Anelisse smiled at the sweet pet name he'd taken to calling her. He frowned at the crashing waves beneath him, still grasping a loose rope hanging above the rail. "Hybern has a history bedecked in strife and bitterness spanning a millennia and the late king did little to quell those emotions. So, when one of the famed Archeron sisters, the infamous Night Witch specifically, put a knife through his throat, the whole kingdom came down like a shattered mirror."

At the mention of Archeron a jolt went through Celeste, dizziness hitting her so violently she swayed on her feet, the voices around her warping. Where had she heard that name before? She knew that family name, knew the females who carried that bloodline—

"They've never been truly able to put themselves back together – ruled by a half-crazed regent for the decades since, and the nobility is in shambles. They're too proud to change and move forward, but lack the power and means to return to their old ways." Avi sighed. "One of the weaknesses of immortality . . . letting the past go can be nearly impossible."

The lord's words fell on deaf ears.

A flash of dark wings and the bite of the cold wind of flight tore into her face as the stench of blood, _her_ blood, saturated the air. The cooing of his voice, the feel of the blade as it slashed through her wings . . . She couldn't go back, couldn't face them, the monsters, the demons that haunted her every waking step-

The wheeling world spun to a halt as Anelisse placed a gentle hand on her arm, silver eyes coming into focus as her sister stared at her in concern. Celeste could barely catch her breath enough to nod her assurances.

Her mind felt like sludge, her focus waning.

What was the name Avi had said again? Try as she might Celeste could not grasp it, the sound floating away like a wisp of a dream, untouchable.

To her relief it seemed the others hadn't noticed her spell, their voices still flowing back and forth around her like water, the words never quite reaching her ears.

Sensing her rising instability, Anelisse sweetly interrupted.

"Let's discuss this more later." Her sister slipped from Gandriel's hold and stepped close to her side, surreptitiously grasping her hand tightly. "Avi, you should start scouting while we head back to the _Siren_. No sense in speculating when there's still a chance for us to catch them, and we should try to get to Sandlock before sunup. We're more likely to find them in the night."

The others nodded their agreement, a blinding light piercing the air as Avi leapt from the railing of the ship, shifting midair and landing with a soft splash in the waves below. Celeste barely registered his departure as her head gave a sudden throb and the world around her continued to waver.

Anelisse cast her another look of concern, tugging at her hand and easily maneuvering her toward the door that led below deck.

* * *

Celeste had fallen asleep almost instantly much to Anelisse's both relief and concern. She'd barely led her sister to a spare cabin on the _Siren_ before she'd sat down and promptly passed out, her unfocused gaze fading to slumber as she collapsed upon the pillows.

"Will she need anything?" Koda's kind tenor sounded behind Anelisse, his slim fingers toying with the end of his short braid. He'd been more than happy to quickly lead both girls to the empty room upon her request. "I'm happy to look after her, if you'd like."

Anelisse offered the boy a genuine smile. His kindness had never failed to impress her.

"No, just sleep." She ran a hand tenderly across her sister's face, tidying the disheveled raven locks. "Thank you, though."

"Of course, Miss Anelisse." A blush danced up his tanned cheeks as he gave her a small bow and made for the door. "I'll come back and find you both once we've reached the _Loreley_."

He was still so smitten with her.

It almost broke her heart to know that she'd never feel the same for the boy.

With a wave of his hand the demi-fae male disappeared and Anelisse slumped, letting the worry and fear she'd hidden so cleverly slip onto her features. This spell had been so much like the one Celeste had fallen under after telling her the truth of her past on the _Loreley_.

Something in her recognized the connection. What had Avi said that had triggered her? Had it been his mention of the Night Witch-the Archeron sisters, was it?

Gandriel's voice cut through the silence, jolting her from her thoughts.

"I'm worried about her." The tall male strode into the room, his tawny orbs soft as he watched Celeste sleep. Gently, he sunk onto the cot beside her across from Anelisse. "She's done this before, hasn't she? The night before we left Marchedor," he paused and shifted his gaze to Anelisse, "and that day on the _Loreley_ all those months ago."

So he had noticed the first fainting spell. The male was nowhere near as oblivious as he let others believe. Anelisse let out a long, soft sigh, rubbing at her fingertips.

"And if she did?" She couldn't keep the bite from her voice, as much as she cared for and trusted Gandriel, protecting her sister was her first priority, even if that meant keeping information from him.

"What's causing them? Should she see a healer?" He awkwardly scratched at his head, his tendrils of dark blond hair catching the meager rays of sunlight that slipped through the fog into the small window, highlighting his exquisite jaw in soft light. "Should we _make_ her see a healer?"

"You don't _make_ my sister do anything," Anelisse muttered with equal parts fondness and exasperation, though after what Celeste had told her, she wouldn't have trusted any fae healer to touch her regardless. "The best we can do it let it pass. It's probably benign," a lie even she didn't fully believe, "most likely from working too often and too hard."

Gandriel looked unconvinced.

Not wanting him to press further, Anelisse fluttered her eyelashes at the male, twisting her lips in the way she knew made his heart stutter as she shifted into a mood that even he couldn't evade.

"Well, she is sleeping now." She rose easily, swishing her hips as she strode around to the other side of the bed, before lowering herself gently onto his lap, ensuring contact in all the right places. "And we have several hours before we reach port. We could find . . . other things to occupy ourselves with."

Things to keep your attention away from my sister.

Like a hound on a scent, Gandriel took the bait, flashing a blinding white smile as he pulled her down further against him, digging his fingers delightfully into her hips. "Where would you like to go, lady?"

"Elsewhere," she cooed, grinding herself against him and nearly moaning at the hardness that bloomed. "Somewhere we won't wake my sister."

Gandriel huffed a laugh onto her neck and lifted her with fae ease, something Anelisse had found she quite enjoyed the male doing. Hiking her skirt, she locked her legs around his hips.

"Then allow me to escort you elsewhere." Maneuvering around the cot, Gandriel tucked her close to him and slipped from the room, into the narrow hallway, and across to the adjacent empty cabin. Anelisse huffed a laugh, her nerves easing slightly as he fumbled with the latch and toed the door open with his foot as he trailed kisses down her collarbone, each deeper than the last.

He certainly hadn't been a novice the first time she'd bedded him, quite the opposite in fact. She couldn't quite blame Ithaca's fury for losing him as her little toy, though she'd been more than happy to fill that vacancy for him, even if she was now using their tendency to defer to the physical to distract him from other more pressing matters. There nothing she wouldn't do to protect her sister, though she certainly had no complaints regarding her current tactics.

Gandriel settled her gently on the bed, nipping playfully at her ear as he pressed her back onto the narrow cot, her legs still wrapped securely about his waist. Tentatively, she pressed her hips closer, earning a groan from the male. A giggle slipped from her as she laid her palm against his broad chest in time to feel his heart skip.

The slight flush of red on his cheeks and the curve of his lips told Anelisse she had him.

* * *

 _Darkness consumed her, the rush of cold nearly paralyzing as she fought and lost against the crashing, icy waves forcing her down. The salt stung her eyes and she scrambled for buoyancy, tumbling and plummeting further into the abyss._

Please _, she wanted to cry out, S_ omeone, please _—_

 _The flash of kind hazel eyes, the whisper of shadows. The booming laughter, the flare of broad wings and roses. They could swim, they would come for her—why hadn't they come?_

 _Icy blue eyes, two pairs. One her protector and the other strength, unbendable as tempered steel. Gentle caramel wrapped in the scent of violets and lilies. Silver that nearly glowed with feral amusement. Rich soil and the deepest cobalt._

 _The twinkle of violet, the same as her own. Home, that was_ home _—_

 _Searing pain tore through her skull, screaming and tearing against the edges of her mind. Wrong. It was all wrong. The violet was an atrocity, a lie to cover the sins that lay beneath their shimmering depths._

He broke you _, the voices hissed,_ He shattered you, you will never be whole again.

 _She kicked against the water, damning the agony as she struggled upwards. She needed to reach the air, if she could only break through the surface she could find the truth, to touch the mirror of her memories._

 _Air. She needed air—_

Celeste started in the cot, the world around her wheeling as she clung to the thin mattress beneath her, gasping. Dark, everything was dark—she rolled onto her feet and scrambled upright. She had to move, had to be away from that place. Stumbling to the door, she fumbled with the handle - he was after her, he would find and destroy her-

It was the high-pitched laughter from the deck above that halted her frantic fingers, the sound suddenly grounding her to the present. Her held breath flooded out of her as reality clicked into place and she released her hold on the door. It had been a dream, another nightmare.

She barely made it back to the cot, shaking as she sat down, her teeth chattering. She was freezing, as though the cold from her dream had followed her into the waking world. It'd been years since she'd dreamt of the night Anidre had found her, had remembered the pull of the ocean as it tried to drag her to an icy grave.

Pain spliced through her head so violently she hissed and immediately threw herself back on the bed, gripping the blanket as she willed it away.

What the hell had happened?

They'd lost their lead on the ships and then-nothing. She couldn't remember anything. What the hell was happening to her? Groaning, she remained still, letting the soft rocking of the _Siren_ lull her mind into peace as she reoriented herself, willing the memory to surface. Nothing came.

 _Useless organ_ , she internally murmured as she pressed her palm to her skull, the pain beginning to ease as the dream faded back into the shadowy depths of her memory. Best to leave it as it was then.

The less she pursued the thoughts the faster it subsided.

Where the hell were Anelisse and the others?

The high-pitched cackling above deck had been Fallon no doubt, but that didn't account for her sister or her faithful lap dog.

Rising from the cot a second time, she made for the door and pried it open, squinting her aching eyes against the dim rays seeping into the hallway from the lanterns above deck. It was night already; her last memory of the day had been mid-morning.

How long had she been asleep? Habitually, she sniffed at the air and caught a stale scent from the adjacent cabin that nearly made her gag.

So that was where her sister and first mate had been, for quite some time if the strength of the smell was any indication. Well, at least it meant they were both fine.

She rubbed at her face and strode from the darkness to the stairs, taking each one quicker than the last, mindful to not glance back into the shadows behind her. Something in her believed that if she kept looking forward, she might outrun the threat that always seemed to follow her in the dark.

* * *

"Do you really think sending Gandriel with Eoin and Koda was the best idea?" Vaerek grunted from his seat atop a barrel, his handsome brow knotted as he looked between Fallon and Anelisse, an array of cards spread out between them.

"Better them than us," Fallon chirped in response as she swigged from a bottle of wine and squinted her eyes at the card nearest her, grunting in annoyance. "Besides, pretty-boy's got that little disappearing act, he can pop them back here if things go south."

Vaerek huffed, clearly unconvinced. Anelisse sent the first mate a sympathetic look before flitting her attention back to the cards before her. Fallon had insisted it would be too suspicious to send more than a small group to scout Sandlock, and, having deemed it necessary she and Anelisse have some bonding time, she'd told the boys to hop to it.

Bonding time, apparently, being play with this strange deck of colorfully painted scenes and numbers.

"Well?" Anelisse inquired, pushing tentatively at the card nearest her, a lovely woman with a parasol and a star suspended above her head, lighting the world around her, followed by a great stone tower surrounded by lightning.

"Blasted things are sassing me," Fallon griped, swiping the cards up and shoving them together before forcefully shuffling them and muttering her annoyance. "They've been impossible of late, they have the worst personality, the lot of them."

"Maybe if you'd stop asking pointless, undirected questions they'd be more forthcoming," Vaerek replied from his post beside the table, cocking his head as he watched his daughter re-shuffle the cards, laying out nearly the same array she'd pulled before.

"And maybe you should go below deck and take a nap," she snipped, nearly flipping the table in her annoyance at the cards before her. The first mate peeked over, his brows shooting into his hairline as he surveyed the cards splayed before them.

Fallon made to swipe up the cards again but her father swatted her hand, earning a curse.

"Stop for a minute and let me see what they say." He leaned forward and scanned the array of pictures before sending a concerned look towards Anelisse, his dark eyes flaring.

"What do they say?" She'd only made a general inquiry regarding her future, a simple, straightforward question that had made Fallon snort, though it seemed the cards had a different story to tell.

"That they want a vacation and nap," Fallon quipped before Vaerek could speak, shoving the cards back into a pile. "And perhaps a swim if they keep this bullshit up."

"What bullshit?" Celeste's voice echoed from the across the deck as she emerged from the darkness behind Fallon, her tousled hair a curtain of shadow around her thin shoulders. Relief filled Anelisse as she watched her sister materialize.

"Fallon's being told off by inanimate objects," Anelisse replied with a smile as she rose to offer her sister a seat. "Apparently she's got a knack for fortunetelling so we've been inquiring after the future while we wait on the boys to scout the town."

Celeste stopped. "What do you mean, 'the boys'? Where are we?"

Fallon turned in her seat and smiled as she tipped her bottle of wine back and finished the last of it. "Gandriel, Koda and Eoin. We rendezvoused with the _Loreley_ and made our way to Sandlock. Since you were . . . indisposed, they volunteered to scout the town and see if they could sniff out any information regarding the possible location of our missing ships."

Celeste's eyes widened before she pressed a palm against her forehead, groaning. "And you let them go? Well, best ask those cards of yours if they'll come back in one piece then."

Fallon chortled in reply, pulling the cards free from the small silk bag she'd slipped them into and beginning to shuffle them. Anelisse laughed as well before glancing back toward Vaerek who was still watching her, his dark eyes churning with unease.

"Vaerek, you're being weird," Fallon grumbled as she laid the cards out. Celeste sat down, the color having returned to her face, much Anelisse's relief. "I wouldn't think too much on it."

"Think too much on what?" Celeste inquired, looking between Vaerek and Anelisse.

"Oh, just the painfully awkward question about my romantic future I'm about to ask," Anelisse offered a hand out to her sister, squeezing her palm tightly in her own as she winked. "I'm hoping I'll have numerous beautiful lovers, all of whom will worship me endlessly."

Celeste snorted her amusement, her shoulders relaxing.

"Well, you might be losing one of them," Fallon interjected, annoyance in her tone as the spread took shape. "Looks like the fools decided to split up in their little search. Should be fine though . . ." She flipped a card, trailing off as she raised her eyebrows at a rather disheveled man hanging upside down by his ankle. ". . . And took a new perspective?" She threw her hands up. "I give up, let's try something else."

* * *

So maybe splitting up hadn't been his brightest idea, Gandriel mused internally as he skidded around a corner and sprinted down the cobblestone alley, the three hooded figures pursuing him fast on his heels.

He, Koda, and Eoin had wandered the tiny, exceptionally seedy port village for over an hour and had seen absolutely nothing of more interest than unintelligible drunks and barrels of fish. Seeing their lack of progress he'd deemed that maybe parting ways and covering more ground might be beneficial.

He'd taken the lead and sent Eoin down to search the nearly empty docks and Koda into the stinking, shadowy streets, while he headed to the single inn in the center of town. Admittedly, he'd given himself the more appetizing job, justifying that it was likely the most dangerous. And if he happened to get a drink out of the deal, all the better.

He just hadn't expected his excuses to have been so accurate.

Gandriel had instantly regretted ordering the swill the moment it arrived in front of him, the ale flat and tasteless, but had sipped at it regardless. Battling rapidly encroaching boredom he'd halfheartedly surveyed the few fishermen at the tables surrounding him from under his dark hood. Though certainly questionable, and not a place he intended to linger in any longer than necessary, he had concluded the village was benign, nothing more to report on than a few half-crazed seamen sharing their tales of merfolk.

He'd been forcing down the last of his drink and preparing to depart when he'd noticed two shadowy figures materialize from the back of the bar, quietly standing from their table and slipping into a back room. Interest piqued, he'd placed a copper down for the drink and casually followed after, ears pricked as he listened for any scrap of their conversation.

Reaching the doorway they had vanished through, he did his best to press himself into the shadows, inching forward until the whispers had slowly reached his ears.

Information regarding the whereabouts of the two carrier ships, now cleverly concealed a few miles north of port, wafted through the door. They'd been warded with an enchantment that negated all attempts at detection, both magical and physical, and were filled to the brim with faebane.

A gift from "friends" to the West.

The ship was to set sail at first light and track south along the coast of Prythian, undetectable thanks to their little spell, headed straight for the unholy kingdom that Avi had claimed was too much in shambles to have had any involvement.

A good faith gesture in exchange for an entirely new shipment of fae bane, mined in that dying kingdom.

He had stepped back, reeling with this new information. Their intel had been compromised from the beginning, sending them on a goose chase in the opposite direction, nearly ensuring they'd missed them entirely. Someone had leaked information, likely a spy on the inside.

Without hesitation he'd turned, intent to pick up Eoin and Koda before racing back to the _Siren_. Instead, much to his displeasure, he'd bumped directly into another broad, black-hooded figure, who raised a single angled, fae eyebrow from beneath his hood, a feral grin appearing on his lips.

"It's very rude to eavesdrop on matters that don't concern you."

 _Shit._

The stranger had had made a lunge for him, which he'd nimbly sidestepped before grabbing the back of a heavy wooden chair and throwing it haphazardly behind him as he sprinted for the door, struggling to remember the route back to the ships through the dark, narrow alleys.

Which put him in his current predicament, the thundering of boots gaining on him as he turned into another alley, feet nearly sliding out from beneath him as he skidded on a patch of stinking mud.

Now would be a great time to winnow, his chided himself as he weaved in out of the mazelike, brick-lined streets, losing all sense of direction.

His power made no attempts to materialize, useless thing that it was.

Panic filled Gandriel as he nearly ran headlong into one of the shadowed figures who materialized directly in front of him, his face split with a wide grin, a long, curved blade in his hand.

"Going somewhere, boy?"

Oh lovely, so he wasn't the only one that could winnow.

Gandriel slid to a halt, taking a cautious step back, glancing behind him. "Just need to relieve myself, you know, empty the old canteen-" Backpedaling, he turned and bolted back the way he came, only to realize the other hooded figures now approached from the end of the alley.

He was boxed in a dead end.

Swallowing nervously, he closed his eyes, willing his magic to do something; transport him, call down a bolt of lightning, anything really. _Useless father, give me something to work with, you bastard,_ he internally growled, holding his breath at the rapidly approaching footsteps.

Seeing no other option, he opened his eyes and dove behind the only remaining escape, a half-rotted wagon, as the world suddenly shifted around him.


	54. Goat Snatching

"We didn't find anything, not a hint." Eoin kicked at a loose stone by his feet, looking sheepishly at the ground rather than daring to meet the glower of his captain.

Koda was no better as he toyed with the end of his braid, his soft cerulean gaze to the side as he avoided Fallon's equally heavy stare. "We searched high and low but there wasn't a peep."

"And Gandriel?"

The two boys exchanged a glance, something akin to fear blooming in their eyes before they turned their attention back to their captains, shaking their heads.

"Useless fucking invalid—" Celeste snarled, fury building in the pit of her stomach. Of all the stupid, immature, selfish stunts to pull . . . why, _why_ could he never take anything seriously?

"Tell me exactly what the barkeep told you again. _Everything_ ," Fallon interjected, hands on her hips, looking for all the world like a mother interrogating her children for the truth, coaxing siblings to rat out the instigator.

"He said he saw Gandriel come in and chat with every female there." Koda sent a sympathetic look toward an agitated-looking Anelisse, her pale brow arching dangerously. "Then proceeded to drink the bulk of their mead before sweeping up a sweet looking blonde and disappearing out the door."

Fallon sighed and rubbed at her eyes as Vaerek snorted behind her, sounding like he wasn't the least bit surprised. Sneaking a look at her sister, Celeste felt a flick of satisfaction at the calm fury on Anelisse's face. The male was in deep shit and sinking quickly.

She was going to kill him, slowly.

That was, if Anelisse got her hands on him before Celeste did.

Having heard enough, she turned sharply on her heel and made her way onto the gangplank of the _Loreley_ , her mind made up. If he was going to continue to act like an immature child then she certainly had the right to regard him as such.

He was an adult, he'd find his way back . . . eventually.

"But Captain," Eoin's voice called behind her, "we have to go find him, we can't just leave—"

"Eoin, we don't have time to waste combing this Cauldron-forsaken village for an irresponsible drunk idiot who can't be bothered to find his way back." She turned back, casting a glance to the brightening sky, they were running out of time, quickly, "I don't care to stick around while gossipy fishermen wake up and have time to wonder whose ships these are. And every single person trapped aboard those ships doesn't have time for us to wait for nonexistent information while they're being dragged off to Mother knows where, when we could be out looking for them."

Celeste strode up the length of the ship, her men looking at her with subdued fear as she passed them, boots clicking. "He can winnow; he can either find us or find his way home. I want us out of here in half an hour."

She paused, eyes narrowing at a flash of movement between two barrels, a blur of orange and a flash of green, "And where the hell did this cat come from?"

* * *

 _(Feyre)_

 _I stood in the cabin of a great ship that bobbed on churning water, sailing the expanse of a dark sea. The stench of brine saturated the air as the sound of slapping waves echoed through the wooden structure._

 _Alone._

 _Somehow I felt utterly alone._

 _Shivering against the damp cold, I glanced around the small cabin, nearly bare of contents but somehow familiar._

 _This is home now, a soft, tinkling voice whispered in the distance. This is where we belong, they won't find us here._

 _The voice woke something in my subconscious, a familiar tone I could not place._

 _A flicker of movement caught my attention. Turning, I found a single lily unfurling on the nightstand by my knee, a pinprick of glowing silver at its center. I peered closer, curious. At the flower's center, a tiny glowing caterpillar gnawed gently at the petals, its soft body curling and uncurling as it ate._

 _Gently, I reached down a hand and lifted the creature into my palm, its iridescent glow basking the room in a cool silver hue. It nestled into the warmth of my hand, its glow growing brighter._

 _There was something I needed to find._

 _Someone._

 _Celeste._

 _Out of instinct I slipped from the room into a long, narrow hallway shrouded in darkness. As though sensing my need, the caterpillar grew bright, lighting the way before me. Not knowing which way to go, I turned left and began my trek._

 _It seemed like hours that I walked the halls of the ship, only the single glowing caterpillar held gently in my hand to light the way as I wandered aimlessly. The walls were lined with tattered portraits, torn and dingy, all of them of her. Each one a cherished memory but warped, filled with a sense of surrealism and contorted frighteningly, the scenes twisted so severely they were almost beyond recognition._

 _My daughter's violet eyes stared damningly at me, full of a malice that nearly had my knees wobbling. You, they seemed to cry, You have done this._

 _So I walked silently with the portraits' gaze upon me, their features twisted in wrath, until I came upon a painting at what appeared to be the end of the hallway, large enough as to take up nearly the entire length of the wall._

 _Lifting the caterpillar, I looked the scene over and felt my blood run cold._

 _A great shadowed beast held Celeste in its arms, blood dripping down her back as it held her wings aloft above its head like a trophy, baring its teeth in victory. That beast, that form, I'd know it anywhere-_

 _"He took them from me, you know."_

 _My heart stopped in my chest as a jolt of shock raced through me. Celeste._

 _Wheeling about, I found her standing before me, her eyes red as she looked up at me, tears streaming down her face._

 _"There were mine and he took them, like he took my life."_

 _It was her but not, like the foggy memory of an apparition, her face filthy and clothes soaked, water dripping sluggishly onto the floor. An orange tabby wound between her legs, curling its tail protectively around her dirty calf._

 _Only her eyes remained bright, full of a sadness that even I could not fathom._

 _Corpse, it was her corpse._

 _My heart guttered in my chest as the breath fled me. No words came._

 _Tentatively, she reached up a swollen, pale hand to a tattered piece, a painting of what I assumed had once been Cenric playing a piano but had warped into a shadowed figure sitting before the gaping maw of a beast._

 _"He won't find us again." She snapped her violet eyes towards me, hatred filling their depths. "None of you will."_

 _Before I could react I found myself falling, plummeting towards a dark surface, excruciating pain tearing through my back and fear consuming me entirely._

 _Papa, why?_

 _The thought barely registered in my frantic mind before I hit the surface of the water, the cold so icy it immediately tore the breath from my lungs. Tumbling I felt myself be pooled into the depths of the frozen water, like a monster dragging me to its depths._

 _Please, I heard her voice scream, Someone, please—_

 _I saw Azriel through her eyes, the shadows at his shoulders, Cassian and his broad wings and the scent of the roses she loved so much, heard the pleas as she cried out for them, willing them to save her, wondering why they hadn't come._

 _Saw as she remembered my sisters and I, the flashes of Mor and Amren. The love that filled her at the thought of her father—_

 _Then the voices._

 _Their voices._

 _He broke you, the voices hissed. He shattered you, you will never be whole again. Abandoned, you were abandoned—_

 _Fighting the water I thrashed, trying desperately to reach the surface. In my attempts I turned and found myself staring into violet eyes, this time wide and frantic, and looking every bit like the leshka had portrayed her and fighting like hell to stay afloat_

 _Like a string going taut I felt a pulse rush through me, a wave of energy full of life and magic. Her eyes snapped to mine, wide in surprise._

* * *

I woke in an instant after the dream, my mind reeling at what I'd felt and seen.

Real it had felt entirely too real. Without thought I nearly winnowed from the couch where I'd dozed off to find my mate to tell him, to ask what he thought—but then I stopped myself.

How long could this go on for?

How long could I let my mind drag me back and forth over something that had long since concluded?

I sat and pondered it for a time, wondering just how far my mind was willing to go to fill in the gaps of her final moments, how far my already fractured thoughts were willing to reach to try and convince me that she was still there.

And, in that moment, I decided I would dwell on it no longer.

Decided that I would not even mention such an atrocity to Rhys, even the thought of the bastards using his image in her final moments—

No, I wouldn't drag him down such a path of misery.

Life was to go on, without her, and things were to return to normal, or as normal as they could be without Cenric home.

I thought of my absent son as I rose, shaking off the lingering horrors of the dream, and made my way to the kitchen. My mate had informed me that our son was well enough in his isolation in the Steppes, and I'd seen that myself when I'd peeked through to witness his tattooing.

He'd worn the markings with such pride, even if he had lost weight and had looked somewhat worse for wear.

Perhaps with time that wound would close too.

Stepping into the sun-drenched room, I found my sister poring over an array of sketches, various seating arrangements, and menus.

Glancing up at me through bronze lashes, her caramel eyes widened a bit.

"Are you all right, Feyre? I heard you thrashing while you slept . . ."

I offered her an easy smile, willing my nerves to settle, especially as I felt the tell-tale pull of my mate on the other end of the bond, no doubt prodding to see what had launched me out of my sleep. I wouldn't do this to him, to any of them, any longer.

"Yes, just remnants of . . ." I sighed through my nose, gesturing half-heartedly. "Everything."

Elaine nodded her head in understanding, compassion filtering over her features. She held out a hand and gestured to the table before her.

"Would you like to join?"

I nodded at my sister and made to sit across from her, leveling my gaze at the piles and piles of paper scattered over the wood. I slipped my fingers beneath the nearest menu and glanced through the contents, raising a brow.

"This sounds . . . interesting."

A blush danced across Elaine's cheeks as she quickly snatched the menu from my hands, looking a bit guilty.

"I just want everything to be perfect," she ran her fingers gently over the page, "though perhaps pickled capers, sweet cream and honey aren't the right choice for that, although the caterer swears by them . . ."

I smiled at her, trying to be reassuring.

"I'm sure whatever you end up choosing will be perfect." Mother knew the dresses that she'd selected for Nesta and myself certainly were, having been fitted for them only a few days before. A few . . . creative . . . food choices certainly wouldn't spoil the event.

"I hope so."

Shuffling the papers, Elaine shook her head, her brow furrowing slightly.

"What is it?"

"Cenric needs to be fitted for his jacket, and, well . . ." My sister actually looked frumpy, the slightest tick of annoyance on her face. "He's off in the wilderness doing who knows what. I do hope he'll at least come home for the wedding."

I almost apologized to my sister for his absence but settled for reassurance.

"I'm certain he wouldn't miss it for the world, even despite his anger with me."

"I wonder what he's even doing out there."

I sighed, frowning out at the sun-drenched garden. "Hopefully staying safe."

* * *

"This is a fucking terrible idea," Valka grumbled as she knelt behind the boulder, her head just peeking above it. "There's no way this is going to work."

"Shut up and stick to the plan," Cenric hissed in return, running his hand absentmindedly through his already mussed hair before reaching for the rope at his waist. "It'll only work if we do it together."

Valka rolled her eyes but knelt closer, clasping her hands around her own piece of rope. When had her self-preserving isolation turned into a game of "what stupid shit can we get into today with the High Lord's son"?

This was absolutely ridiculous, one of the worst ideas he'd had yet.

And, somehow, she was still helping him.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Entirely. We have to do this."

Valka contemplated slamming her face into the rock before her, annoyance soaking her very being. Wasn't she supposed to be hiding? Pretending that she'd fucked off to the ends of the earth, never to be seen again?

She groaned. "Fine, give the signal when you're ready then."

The male nodded, before leaning forward and peering across the field at their target as it roved lazily across the grassy meadow, turning its head to and fro, utterly oblivious to their impending attack.

"Cut to the right and I'll take the left flank - we can herd her against the outcrop." Cenric pointed a bandaged finger at the sheer cliffside on the far side of the valley. The linen wrap only served as another reminder to Valka of the unending shit she'd been subjected to the past few weeks - he'd injured himself that morning while mindlessly carving a chunk of wood. "If you can keep her distracted I'll go in for the final blow."

Valka stared at him for a minute, processing the sound of excitement in his tone, the utter delight in his cobalt eyes.

Happiness, that was pure happiness.

She'd never once seen him look so . . . bright.

Her resolve to tell him he was a fool faltered. She sighed.

"Fine."

Another star twinkled to life in his dark cobalt eyes as he held his hand up and began a countdown with his fingers, dropping one, then two, then three-

They both erupted from behind the rock, their fae agility sending them soaring across the clearing as they honed in on the lone mountain goat in the field. She froze for a moment in shock before a bleating scream tore from her and she bolted away from them.

Rolling her eyes, Valka swerved to the right as instructed, flaring her wings to glide over a dip in the ground as she cut the goat off from leaving the valley. Seeing her one of escape routes blocked, the poor creature wheeled back and shot off in Cenric's direction, nimbly avoiding the rope Valka halfheartedly tossed at her.

"Aim higher!" Cenric called over the grass, his lean legs sending him flying across the field as he swung his own rope overhead, his once mutilated shoulder pivoting as though it had never been injured.

Lucky that'd he'd gotten to keep the appendage.

Lucky that somehow, through all of this, she was still breathing.

Valka watched as Cenric tossed his lasso towards the small grey nanny who quickly dove to the right, completely missing his attempt at catching her.

Or perhaps not that lucky, if this nonsense was going to continue.

This was their third attempt at catching one of these elusive bastards. They'd been at this since sunup; it was now well past noon. How they were being bested by furry, bleating sacks of skin she wasn't certain she wanted to know or even acknowledge.

The fact that the little lord had forbidden the use of wings or magic might have had something to do with it though.

A filthy curse slipped past Cenric's lips that had one of Valka's eyebrows quirking.

Did he really want cheese that badly?

Sensing the creature veering back towards her, Valka readied her rope again, determined to finally catch one of the slick little creatures so her new cave-mate would finally shut up and she could have a blissful nap. Perhaps she could even convince him to return to his own little makeshift camp.

Not that her attempts to do so over the previous weeks had been of any use. On the contrary, he'd happily moved in, spouting some bullshit about "safety in numbers."

Horseshit.

Valka watched the swerving path of the panicking creature with a predator's intent as it fled straight towards her. Twisting her rope in her hands, she slid abruptly to a stop and planted her feet and carefully aimed for the goat. Her solitude, and possibly her sanity was on the line with this one-

She let out an unflattering yelp as tightness wrapped suddenly around her, wings and all, yanking her off her feet as she tumbled forward, face first into the grass.

He was a fucking fool.

Cenric had missed the goat entirely and had instead roped her.

Valka watched in horror as the goat slipped off towards the side of her, bleating in panic as it raced down the valley and out of sight. The third one of the morning gone, just like that.

Frantic footfalls rushed toward her as she rolled over onto her back, seething as she clamored upright. That was it, they weren't hunting any more goats-

"Valka, are you—?" Cenric came up short, something like guilt flickering to life in his eyes, even as a smile bloomed on his face.

She'd had enough.

This idiocy was only going to cost her life and his too.

"DO I LOOK ALL RIGHT?!" she snarled at him, frantically working her way out the rope and pulling it over her head before tossing it to the side and jumping to her feet. She marched toward him, balling her fists at her sides, determined to show the dapper little prince a lesson in the consequences of being stupid—

He chuckled.

The sound was enough to halt Valka's advance, even as her eyes narrowed further and she hissed through her teeth.

She'd never heard him laugh, not truly.

The sound quickly turned into a deep rumble before he threw his head back and cackled, his hands covering his face as he took her in.

He was mocking her.

Oh, he was dead.

"See something funny, pretty boy?"

She was going to take that rope and string him up with it. She'd leave him for the crows to pick at while she went and actually did something productive.

Her internal mutilation plans came to a halt though as he snorted, his shoulders shaking. It wasn't long before he was gasping for air, doubled over and red in the face.

Valka felt her eyebrow twitch.

"It's just," he managed to gasp out, even as his whole frame shook with amusement, "that was meant for the goat and," there were tears streaming down his cheeks, "I hit you, and you just went down, and there's grass all over your face, and—"

He lost it again.

Valka couldn't even bring herself to hit him and instead chucked the rope at his face.

All of this so the little bastard could make cheese.

Her life was in shambles.

* * *

They'd finally caught the goat after six failed attempts when Cenric had at last permitted her to fly after the damned creature. She wasn't even going to acknowledge the black eye she'd somehow acquired.

She'd finally snagged the little bitch, even if she'd earned a nasty bite in the process.

Another bruise added to her collection, all because the pretty prince refused to use his magic "on principle."

At least he wasn't a demon incarnate.

Glancing sidelong, she half contemplated tripping him, sending him and the new pet reluctantly tucked up under his arm tumbling down the hillside and into the ravine below. Perhaps she'd just kill the goat and roast it, that would certainly be punishment enough for the fool.

"See something you like?"

Valka did a double take at the purr that slipped past the pricks mouth, his cobalt eyes twinkling in amusement. What was he getting at?

". . . Excuse me?"

He immediately averted his gaze, pink tinging his cheeks. Good, it was best he knew exactly where he stood with her. Grumbling, she strode further ahead, avoiding eye contact. They needed to reach the cave before the sun vanished below the horizon.

"I am sorry," he muttered behind her, sounding sheepish and sincere, a tone foreign to her, "especially about the black eye." She could hear the smile in his voice. "I have a salve that should take care of it."

She snorted.

"Maybe if you'd just used your magic to winnow to the damned thing, it wouldn't have happened." Valka hadn't even noticed the ancient pine when she'd dived for the goat, successfully herding her straight to Cenric but also slamming face first into the trunk. "Or, better yet, aren't you daemati? You could have brainwashed her straight into your arms."

"Like I told you before, that's cheating. It's unfair to use magic to hunt an animal that has no way of countering it. And you know I'm not using my power."

She rolled her eyes. "As you've told me numerous times before."

"Besides, I would never tear into a creature's mind so carelessly. It'd be irresponsible."

The absurdity of the thought nearly had Valka cackling as her mind spiraled into memories she'd long since shoved away of two males who'd never held such a code. Power existed to be used and abused, damn anyone who stood in the way.

"What a noble sentiment, coming from a daemati." She snorted. "I've never known anyone with that power to be respectful, why would you? You could have anything you want."

Cenric slowed behind her, his eyes boring into the back of her skull. "What do you mean?"

Valka stopped, debating the risk of her next words, then whirled on him. "Why are you still here, Cenric? You could dive straight into my mind and rip out anything you want to know, and with your power, there would be nothing I could do about it." A mirthless laugh. "Hell, with half a whisper, you could have me flying straight back to camp to turn myself in, confess all my sins, dance a fucking jig . . . anything you wanted. So why the fuck are you still here following me around like a damned puppy?"

The crunch of pine needles halted as Cenric stopped dead. "Valka . . ."

Valka hadn't realized how hard she was breathing or that her wings had flared wide behind her defensively. She agilely tucked them back against her back.

Was there any point in hiding from him? She turned back to their path, mindlessly pulling at a branch of a low-hanging tree, pulling it out of her way as she slowly stepped beneath it. What did she honestly have to lose at this point? Better to tell him of her own free will than have it torn from her.

"Idrius and Icarius never had such reservations." She released the branch and kept walking, her shoulders going rigid as her wings tensed. "Not with their . . . _training_."

"Your brothers."

Not a question.

"They reveled in torturing the females in the camp, especially their dear little sister." She chuckled bitterly. "Nothing quite like waking up after they'd taken control and made me do something that would result in a whipping. They certainly got their amusement from it."

She'd never forget the swirling darkness of their power as they'd drowned out all will of her own, the sting of the lash across her wings, the disappointed and angry eyes that watched as her punishment was dealt out, the way they would laugh.

Would never forget the last time they'd used her as a play thing, bending her will to their own desires-

She hadn't seen them or Silbah since that night so many years ago.

She slammed down on the memory, demanding its silence.

A hand landed gently on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . ." He squeezed lightly. "Are you all right?"

She was no helpless maiden.

"Fuck off." Valka shrugged out of Cenric's hold, her stomach tying in knots as she resumed walking. "I don't need comfort. Besides," she turned and offered him a smile harsher than she felt, one she knew deep down that those gleaming eyes saw beneath. "they got what was coming to them. They all did, and good riddance."

She stepped forward, keenly aware of the deepening shadows as the sun slipped away, but Cenric caught at her gloved fingers with his free hand and held her back. For a moment she debated punching him, but the thought vanished as he caught her gaze.

"I . . . I would never." He let her go and she took a step back, away from that vibrant blue. Cenric lowered his eyes and hefted the disheveled goat under his arm. "I want you to know that."


	55. Herding Cats

Three days. Three days, and Avi had come up empty-handed. He'd climbed aboard the _Loreley_ soaking wet and looking far more haggard than Celeste felt comfortable with. Even Vaerek had openly expressed his frustration when the selkie lord had relayed his information.

There was not a ship for miles, as though the vessels had truly vanished into thin air, and not a trace of magic remained to attempt to track them with.

Three days and they were no closer to finding their quarry than they'd been in Sandlock, meaning they'd likely lost an entire shipment of slaves. Disgust and frustration pooled in Celeste's stomach.

On top of it all, she was still short one useless, drunken first mate.

She'd half expected the fool to have at least appeared back aboard the _Loreley_ by now, even if his winnowing abilities were still less than refined. It left a strange mix of concern and annoyance coursing through her.

On the one hand, if he were still stuck in Sandlock it certainly served him right, but on the other . . .

Half of her hoped he truly had just disappeared in a moment of idiocy and that he'd rightfully feared her wrath and had simply opted to return to Marchedor, but as the days crept on more and more doubt had filled her mind.

If someone had captured the invalid and gotten information out of him, or worse, harmed him . . . At the time, she'd been so furious with him she hadn't thought twice about leaving without searching further, but what if he truly had run into trouble? She had left him to his fate.

Celeste threw her blades down onto her bed. They were screwed, and practically shooting into the dark while they scrambled for any shred of information, any hint as to where the ships could have gone. And without Gandriel's weather magic, the shroud of fog that had masked the ships before had vanished, leaving them open for any spying eyes to see for miles.

If they missed this shipment . . . She snarled and slammed her hand down onto her mahogany desk. She refused to give up on them, refused to lose a single innocent life. Dropping into her chair, Celeste yelped in surprise when she felt a furry mass shift beneath her, meowing pathetically.

And then there was this asshole.

This damned feline, whom Eoin had affectionately and rather unimaginatively dubbed Pumpkin, had certainly done his part to contribute to her frayed nerves. According to Eoin, the fluffy and rather plump orange tom had appeared out of nowhere as he and Koda waited for Gandriel on the docks of Sandlock. Since then, the little bastard had been sneaking into Celeste's room at every available opportunity. She'd found him endearing at first, until she'd opened the door to her cabin on the first night and found papers scattered across the floor, every surface of her cabin covered in black pawprints, a nearly full inkwell pooling into the carpet. The chaos had only worsened in the days that followed: utter destruction of everything she owned, always accompanied by the most horrendous yowling she'd ever heard.

She'd never wanted to sincerely murder a ball of fluff more.

Losing her patience with the squashed orange hairball, she snatched him up harshly by the scruff of his neck and glared daggers into the creature's yellow-green eyes. His ears flattened and the tip of his tail twitched angrily as he stared back.

"Listen here, you little bag of dicks. Eoin might be fond of you but I _will_ throw your fuzzy ass overboard, just try me."

He'd already ripped apart three of her shirts and seemed to have a particular fondness for maps, tearing apart every single one she'd managed to leave within his reach, scattering shreds of parchment across the room. The night before, he'd clawed his way up her back, crying so pitifully that Eoin had burst into the room worried she'd murdered the poor thing.

Without warning, Pumpkin took a vicious swipe at her nose, followed by an earsplitting yowl, his eyes wide as he dug his claws into her arms, clinging painfully as she carried him toward the door of her room.

He was inches from becoming fish food.

"Out with you!"

With no amount of gentleness Celeste tossed the cat out onto the deck, narrowly missing Anelisse. She couldn't help the quirk of her mouth as she heard the familiar sound of skidding paws as he slid across the wood and smacked into the railing.

Gesturing for Anelisse to hurry into the room she immediately slammed the door shut, keeping the furry demon out.

"There's no need to be so harsh with him," her sister chuckled.

"He hasn't shit-wrecked your room endlessly for the last few days. I told Eoin to keep him in his cabin."

"I believe the little devil keeps escaping."

"We need better locks." And better informants, more information, a _miracle_ —

"You need a break."

Celeste stopped her pacing and caught the pointed look her sister levelled at her from her seat on the bed, patting the empty spot next to her. Celeste released a long sigh through her nose before flopping down, groaning loudly.

"Nothing's going to plan. If we lose these people—"

"We won't." A soft hand settled in her hair, smoothing back the stray strands of her braid. "But pacing and beating up on our newest crew member won't resolve this. Resting and clearing your mind will. Avi's gone out to search again, we're to meet with him and the others on his return. Why don't you rest in the meantime?"

"But—" She had no time to rest, there was so much to be done, maps to pore over, plans to be laid-

"No buts." Celeste felt a gentle shove as Anelisse scooted closer, the sweet scent of vanilla and lavender encompassing her. "You'd be wise to listen to your sister for once in your stubborn, immortal existence."

"Easy for you to say when there aren't innumerable lives depending on you."

"All the more reason you should take care of yourself." The mattress shifted as Anelisse stood up began to tug at her boots. "Who's going to defend us if you pass out again? Certainly not Eoin or his new little friend, nor our dear, _dear_ missing Gandriel."

Celeste flinched at the tone. She certainly wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of the lecture the male was going to get when Anelisse got her hands on him. There was a good chance she still wouldn't have a first mate by the time her sister was done with him.

Unfortunately, Anelisse was right.

Her dreams had been torturous lately, filled with flitting images and an impending sense of wrongness that had chased her from sleep without fail. Perhaps a nap might give her the mental clarity she'd been lacking, if sleep would come.

Celeste grumbled and pulled back the covers, welcoming the soft embrace of the mattress. She almost sighed in relief when Anelisse joined her, her soft, petite hands taking her own.

"Let's rest together." Anelisse snuggled close, their fingers intertwined, the same way they'd slept when the dreams had chased Celeste from slumber in their youth. "You've looked unwell lately."

"It's just the dreams," she muttered halfheartedly, surprised as she felt sleep already slipping in to claim her. "You know how they are."

"I do." She felt her sister pull the covers up around her. "I remember how many nights you'd sit shaking by the fire from one of them, always afraid something was waiting in the shadows to take you."

"I was always certain there was . . ." But if they thought her dead, if she could just keep her head down and identity concealed . . . They'd never find her again.

"Not anymore," Anelisse pressed a kiss to her hair before settling, silver eyes bright, "not while I'm here."

As if Celeste would ever let them get close enough to her to even touch her—the reality of who her sister had likely seen in the market slid through her like oil. So incredibly lucky that they'd hadn't scented her or recognized the painting, so lucky they hadn't harmed Anelisse—

She was dead and she would remain that way. Even if the thought of their proximity to Prythian had set her on edge since their departure from Marchedor.

A familiar ache bloomed in her mind.

For now, she needed sleep and a clear head if she were to successfully track the ships. Snuggling down into the blankets, Celeste felt her eyelids grow heavy as she slipped off into a doze, when a familiar yowl sounded at the door, followed by scratching and banging.

Her eyes snapped open.

"Anelisse?"

"Hmm?"

"How would you feel about a new rug?"

* * *

Celeste would never know how that purple monstrosity of Fallon's never seemed to get dirty, the oversized feather still as jaunty as ever.

The captain smirked as she propped her feet up on the desk, staring out the window at the deck, watching Celeste's crew flit about as Vaerek settled on her right.

Avi was due back any minute.

"You know," Fallon quipped, her plump lips turning up at the corners, "dear Pumpkin's going to be sick all over your bed if that boy of yours keeps feeding him fish."

The little devil had survived their earlier scuffle, barely. Once Celeste had caught him she'd personally marched him back to his caretaker, making sure they both understood that if she caught him in her room again she'd kill him and roast him for dinner.

Eoin had been keeping a close eye on the cat since.

"He can clean it up if he does, it's not my problem."

Fallon chuckled, tossing an apple she'd swiped from the center of the table.

"I also see your wayward first mate hasn't returned," she bit into the fruit, "I'm surprised he hasn't used his little disappearing act to make his way back." The captain sucked on the juices. "Though if he were wise he'd have headed the opposite direction, considering the look of murder that just came across Anelisse's face."

"I'm not upset," the blonde replied delicately, running her hands down the front of her dress. "Whatever do you mean?"

Fallon smiled knowingly.

"You know, there is always the possibility that the barkeep was lying," Vaerek interjected coolly, his tanned arms crossed over his chest. "It could be time to entertain the idea that someone may have gotten their hands on Gandriel, especially if he actually managed to get the information we needed."

"I've considered it," Celeste admitted, looking at the empty chair on her left where her missing first mate usually sat, considering the possibility she had abandoned him to a harsh fate. "But it's also not unlikely that he would pull such a stunt and simply refuse to face us in the hopes we'd be less angry later."

Unfortunately, with Gandriel it was impossible to tell.

"True, but it seems awfully convenient to me, especially with his feelings for Anelisse." Vaerek nodded to the blonde. "The behavior and story seem . . . off to me."

"Then do we go back and look for him?" Fallon inquired, sitting forward and tossing her apple core into the rubbish bin. "On the off chance he's actually been taken? We'll be wasting precious time if we find him curled up drunk beneath a barrel somewhere."

"We should see what Avi has to say first," Anelisse added, looking uncomfortable at the thought. "Let's not make plans until we have all our information first."

"Solid point," Fallon leaned back in her chair, smirking, "and right on time. He's here."

Sure enough, a moment later the cabin door opened and a stonefaced Avi entered, dark eyes hard as he stepped inside. Vaerek sat forward.

"I don't like that look."

"You shouldn't." The selkie lord wrung out his hair, his sharply handsome face twisted in frustration, at odds with his usually sunny disposition. "There's nothing out there but an energy sink spanning from Prythian to the continent; it's like they've somehow completely wiped any magical remnants. I can't find them, we're wasting time at this point."

"How?" Fallon snarled. "How did they completely slip past us like this? We've never had a bad kernel of information in all of the years that we've been chasing these slimy bastards—"

"There's a first for everything, pup," Avi's eyes softened as he slumped into a chair next to his daughter. "We've done everything we can."

"Hog shit. There must be something else we can do."

"They must have taken him." Vaerek scratched at his chin, glancing between the table's occupants. "I'm willing to bet gold the barkeep was paid off, which means Gandriel must have gotten the information."

"So we go back to Sandlock then?" Fallon rubbed at her face. "We're three days' sail away now, meaning we're sure to miss any chance of seeing the ships."

"We're not going to find them anyway." Celeste hated the sinking feeling that bloomed in her stomach, they had lost three ships' worth of people, and she was now faced with the real possibility that she might lose Gandriel, all because she'd let her anger get the better of her. "If we turn back and head that way now—"

The door to the cabin flew open as an orange blur raced in, followed closely by Eoin begging his charge to behave himself. His pleas fell on deaf ears as Pumpkin leapt onto the table, back arched and yowling loudly, as though daring any of them to stop him.

Celeste's temper snapped. She was absolutely done with the little bastard's shit, he was going overboard come hell or high water. With the speed of an adder she dove for the cat, trapping him easily beneath her grasp.

"So help me, you fat, mangy, ungrateful, tuna-filled little prick bag—" Celeste wrangled the cat before she brought him to eye level, keeping her gaze locked on his defiant little stare—this was why she had always preferred dogs.

Eoin stood by, looking helpless as how to help his new furry companion.

Of all of the things they absolutely had no time to deal with—

Avi chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

"So, when were you going to tell me that Gandriel is a shapeshifter?"

Everyone froze and stared at the selkie, amusement twinkling in his dark eyes. He nodded at the dangling tabby in Celeste's hands.

"No." Celeste gaped, the gears in her mind slowly clicking into place. She turned her attention back to the cat now hanging limply in her grasp, no longer fighting her. All his destructive behavior, his insistence on always being under her feet—

"I swear to the Mother . . ." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Gandriel, if it's you, meow twice."

Pumpkin complied with the saddest little meows Celeste had ever heard.

Anelisse stared slack-jawed at the dangling feline as Fallon promptly burst into raucous laughter. Vaerek's eyebrows shot up and Eoin simply glanced confusedly between them all.

Celeste sniffed tentatively at the feline, familiarity flaring to life in her mind. She'd never even thought to check its scent, and it hadn't stood out, since Gandriel's faint floral aroma was on practically every surface of the ship.

"What in the Mother's name have you done?"

Pumpkin - no, Gandriel - cried softly as he went limp in her hands, looking increasingly guilty. A mix of emotions flickered in Celeste as she stared at her first mate before setting him down on the table, her hands shaking.

How had he even managed this? Then again, only a few months ago he hadn't realized he could winnow. If the full extent of his powers was just now manifesting . . . Idiot, he was _such_ an idiot, but he hadn't abandoned them, and if he'd gotten the information-

"One meow for yes, two for no, do you understand?"

Gandriel mewed once.

"Did they find you out?"

A single meow.

"Do you know where the ships are?"

One more.

Of _course_. He'd been tearing up the maps, scratching at the same spot on each.

"Show us."

Gandriel quickly complied, bounding across the table to the large map Celeste had spread out for the meeting. He searched for a moment before sitting down, delicately placing a paw directly over the same spot he'd pulled out of the other maps.

"You're certain?" Celeste studied the location, due north of where they'd originally been searching.

Another meow.

Their information had indeed been incorrect then, they'd been scouring the wrong area.

"Can you change back?"

Two forlorn meows.

Of course not. Celeste swiped up Gandriel and deposited her first mate in her sister's arms, where he promptly began to purr. She rolled her eyes.

"See if there's a way to get him to write out the information; we need to head north. I'll get the crew ready to leave."


	56. Of Ash and Faebane

_**Author's note: watch?v=khsIOsZMAEo I listened to this while writing the chapter, especially with the battle so I thought you all might like to have it. :) Enjoy!**_

"Gandriel!" Anelisse called, glancing around the corner of the hall, "Where are you? Gandriel!"

A delighted meow sounded as the rotund tabby that Anelisse had been forced to recognize as her boyfriend came bounding down the hall, tail high in the air, his fluffy paws tapping against the wooden floor.

By the Mother he was precious. An idiot, but precious.

Gandriel paused for a moment by her feet, his tail twitching as she held out her arms for him. He nimbly leapt into them with a chirp, happily nuzzling against her shoulder, purring and twitching his tufted ears.

They'd finally set up a system for him to write using stones, allowing him to push little pebbles about with his nose and paws. It had taken him a while to get them into place the first time, but at last he finally spelled out "sorry." Anelisse's former fury had fizzled away into nothingness at the sight. She should have known better than to doubt him.

He'd mewed sadly at her, tawny eyes downcast as he looked away in shame. She had sighed and promptly wrapped him up into her arms, kissing him fondly as he melted into a pile of thankful fluff. The begrudging feline and had since spent his days winding about her feet as they prepared for their assault on the slave shipments.

The convoy had been only a few days north of them and was finally visible to Avi when he'd taken off to scout the location Gandriel had provided, the relief evident on the male's face when he'd reported back. Two large ships, still with minimal guards. It was a reprieve even if the circumstances still left Anelisse uneasy.

They were to overtake the ships in only a few hours' time, staying just out of sight as they made their final preparations. They'd had to keep a larger distance than normal since Gandriel was . . . indisposed, and unable to use his powers to keep them concealed in his current form, though not for lack of effort.

He'd spent the previous days trying, and failing, to summon an ounce of storm magic. Much to everyone's chagrin he hadn't been able to muster even a wisp of fog. He'd been sulking ever since, especially as they struggled to plan around being short one storm wielder, with Celeste giving him the instruction of "watch the ship" in their absence.

So he'd taken to napping. Gandriel had been going so far as to sleep on top of Anelisse, plopping his bulk in her lap as he kneaded her chest and stomach before dozing off. His substitution for showering her with affection, she presumed, even if he often spent a disproportionately large amount of time kneading the former rather than the latter.

Which she would have much preferred he do with his hands rather than sharp little claws.

They'd figure out a way to get him fae again, regardless of how he'd managed his current predicament. Avi seemed completely convinced he'd somehow managed to do it to himself, a statement which Gandriel seemed to heartily disagree with, espe the amount of disgruntled meowing whenever it was brought up.

Regardless, Anelisse had since been lathering him in kisses and belly scratches every time she had him in her arms, eliciting sounds of disgust from her sister. Celeste, on the other hand, was still thoroughly enjoying her new game of scooping Gandriel up and sending him skidding down the hall.

The newly minted feline had only hissed his displeasure twice.

"Come on," Anelisse hummed softly, turning back towards the stairs, giggling as Gandriel whined pathetically, no doubt wanting to continue his cat nap, "we have a meeting to get to."

* * *

"That's unacceptable!" Fallon was nearly jumping up and down as she growled her annoyance at Celeste, pointing a single accusatory finger. "You can't just tell me you've 'got it covered' and not tell me how you plan to get past those blasted wards—"

"Fallon, sit down," Vaerek's deep voice rumbled, his dark eyes scanning the map. "Throwing a fit like a toddler is not going to help anyone." He cast a pointed look toward Celeste, "Even if I would also like to know exactly how this is going to be executed."

Celeste certainly would have liked that information too.

It was only a feeling, an inkling of a memory, but it was their only shot at getting past those magical barriers without alerting every guard on board. And without Gandriel to provide cover . . . she tried not to glance over at the dozing feline in her sister's lap.

It had to work - there was no other option.

Deep down, she knew she'd done it before and that she could do it again, she only had to remember.

And she only had an hour to do so.

"You're just going to have to trust me on this one."

"By the Mother." Fallon looked pleadingly up at the ceiling before relenting and slumping in a chair, reaching to pour herself a glass of wine, hissing as Vaerek pulled the beverage out of her reach without even looking up from the map.

"You're in no position to be drinking. Focus, Fallon."

She shot him a crude gesture before she turned back to Celeste, all signs of her fury vanishing. "Well, if you fail miserably at least we'll have something to keep us distracted as we fight off guards and whatever else they've got on that ship."

"That's the spirit, pup," Avi chortled, candlelight dancing in his eyes as he glanced over the occupants of the room, in much higher spirits than he'd been the previous week. "It won't be the first time we've fought our way out and certainly won't be the last."

Father and daughter shared a wicked grin.

Vaerek gave a long-suffering sigh. Celeste suspected the scattered streaks of grey in the man's hair had come from those two.

"Then it's settled, we make our move as soon as the sun dips below the horizon." Fallon nodded at the last golden dregs of evening light slipping through the glass panes. "Koda and the others with gifts are ready when we give the signal. They'll be the first line of defense, especially without our storm-wielder." Fallon snorted at the orange tabby. "Then you, Miss Secrets, will take out the wards before we board the ship. Anelisse and the others will remain aboard the Siren and Loreley to ensure the gangplanks remain strung and no one sneaks onto our ships," a smile at the sleeping Gandriel, "and perhaps our little feline might make himself useful by biting someone's heels."

Gandriel peeled one tawny eye open, annoyance lancing through the orb. Flicking his ears back he gave a solitary twitch of his tail, an indication of his irritation.

"Or perhaps you can relieve yourself in one of the guards' shoes, I'm sure they'd be thoroughly annoyed at the act. Though you'd probably do that as fae, too."

Celeste swore she saw a tilt of Avi's lips, the selkie leaning back in his chair as he watched. Vaerek sent a suspicious look at the lord.

Gandriel let out a low growl of annoyance at the captain, his ears flattening further. Celeste was aware of how touchy her first mate had become with the current predicament, but the demi-fae was right - he was nearly useless until he found a way to return to his usual form.

"Fallon, leave him alone," Anelisse reprimanded as she cooed at the tabby curled up in her arms, like a mother to a child, "he's already stressed enough."

"Oh he certainly looks stressed," Fallon gave a simpering smile that would make anyone's blood boil, before stepping around the table and reaching into Anelisse's lap to rub the cat's head none-too-gently, "nuzzling your breasts while the rest of us deal with the issues at hand. But please, don't let me keep you from your duties, Pumpkin."

The male swiped at the captain; she quickly snatched her hand away with a tsk before going back to poking him and pulling on his whiskers.

"Now, now, Fallon be kind, not all shifters are gifted enough to master the simple act of returning to their original form," Avi's voice was an amused purr, "it could be weeks, or even months yet before he figures out the most important, and easiest skill a shifter should know."

"Oh, Dad you're right, or even a year perhaps. Ahh, a diet of tuna and rodents, what a fine future to look forward to!" She gripped Gandriel's face between her palms and made kissy faces at him.

He hissed at her, tail twitching furiously.

Fallon's smile widened.

"For a male of such renown and with such power it is pathetic that you can't even figure out how to shift back to your fae form. Though, perhaps you're keeping this form because you're too cowardly to—"

A crack snapped through the room, the air sizzling with magic as a harsh snarl ripped from the male and Anelisse let out a little yelp of surprise.

"Listen here, you red-headed demon—" Gandriel's voice was hoarse as he placed his palms flat on the table, digging his nails into the wood as he glared at Fallon, once again whole in his fae form.

The male stopped at the sound of his own voice, surprise flashing across his features.

"Wait-" he gaped down at his hands, relief washing over his features, "I'm fae again." He grabbed at his face then ran his hands down his torso, his eyes wild and hair flying in every direction. "I'm fae again!"

"And as big," Anelisse squeaked from beneath Gandriel, her voice muffled beneath his bulk. The male leapt up, stammering his apologies as he turned to face her, grasping her hands pleadingly.

Fallon shared a knowing look with her father.

"Explain," Celeste demanded, gesturing towards Gandriel who was now checking himself over, groping in places she certainly wouldn't have deemed appropriate in the presence of others, even as relief washed through her.

Of course Avi and Fallon had known how to get Gandriel back to normal all along.

"It's how we get the selkie pups to shift back after their first change, if they have trouble," Avi said with a smirk, "you rough them up and make them so angry that they forget what they are. Works like a charm." A deep laugh that was immediately echoed by Fallon.

"And you didn't think to do this sooner?"

"It's usually best to give them a few days to try shifting back on their own," the selkie added with a shrug. Vaerek sent his lover a look of disapproval.

"Right."

Fallon cast a nod at Gandriel who was peeking tentatively down his pants, breathing a sigh of relief at what he found.

"You're not the only one with cards up your sleeve." Fallon winked at Celeste before blowing a kiss toward the still-reeling Gandriel who sent her a frumpy look in return. "Now, you'd better blow those wards to hell so we can get those people out. I'll see you at sundown."

* * *

"How many biscuits are you going to eat?" Celeste inquired with disgust as she stepped up onto the deck next to Gandriel, who gleefully shoved the glorious pieces of bread into his mouth at an alarming rate, the rich taste of butter nearly making him moan.

That fact that it wasn't fish nearly had him in tears.

"Az min az tacks."

Celeste swatted at him, slinging droplets of water into the mists surrounding them. His magic had flooded him once again the second he'd been freed from that cursed cat form, fully functioning and eager to be used. He hadn't been able to even access a drop of it as he wandered the ship as a feline. No, he'd only been able to meow pathetically and be devastatingly distracted by the damned bits of twine that had so enticingly waved back and forth on the deck.

He would sooner drown himself than experience that again. Though he had to admit, unrestricted access to Anelisse's chest had certainly been a perk.

"Chew, swallow, then speak, you buffoon."

Gandriel smacked loudly before swallowing the entire mouthful of biscuit, crumbs clinging to his chin. He was going to have a full, warm, elaborate meal filled with fruits and charred meats as soon as this business was over.

And definitely no fish.

"As many as it takes," he repeated, biting into another biscuit that Anelisse dutifully handed him before she plucked another from the basket and covered it in copious amounts of blackberry jam. "I never want to see tuna again as long as I live."

Anelisse giggled. "I do think Eoin feels bad for feeding you so much of it. He thought you quite enjoyed it."

Celeste smirked, no doubt recalling the memory of the sailor's bright red blush when Gandriel had appeared on deck, back in his usual form. Eoin had profusely apologized to him, sheepishly scratching his head.

Gandriel didn't blame the boy at all, quite the opposite, as he'd been the only force that had kept Celeste from stringing him up.

And he honestly hadn't minded the name Pumpkin.

"I did," Gandriel said mournfully, "it was delicious in that form. But the memory of it . . ." He shuddered. "Let's pretend this never happened and never do it again."

"I can't believe you didn't know you were a shapeshifter," Celeste mused, "how one misses that little detail is beyond me." She looked out over the front of the ship, the bobbing of the mermaid at the prow the only thing visible in the dense fog.

"It wasn't me!" Gandriel snapped, for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, irritation flooding him. The winnowing, while surprising, had made sense, but shapeshifting? Certainly even his father hadn't had such magic. "I swear the male that was after me cursed me, forced me into that form so he could catch me more easily!"

"Oh really? Why were you able to change yourself back, then?"

Gandriel flushed. He didn't have an answer for that one. He ducked his head, halfheartedly tossing a piece of biscuit toward Celeste. Anelisse snickered beneath her breath.

"Captain!" One of the human sailors, Aaron, called from the crow's nest, "We're within sight. We'll be upon the ships in minutes."

"Showtime then," he heard Celeste mutter before she stepped away and began making her way to the bow of the ship, her dark cloak swaying behind her as she brought her hood up. She pitched her voice to Aaron, "Tell the men to get ready! I'm going to bring the wards down."

Gandriel quirked a brow at her as she stepped up onto the railing, confusion filling him. "I was under the impression your magic didn't do that."

She scowled at him beneath the dark cowl. "And I was under the impression your magic didn't turn you into a cat. Now shut up." Celeste straightened her arms beside her.

At first there was nothing, just the breeze around them, the darkness of the night and the lapping of the storm-driven waves. Gandriel was about to ask Celeste if she just wanted him to strike the wards with lightning when the first pulse hit him. A small, sharp thing, a wrinkle in the wind emanating from his captain that made him take a tentative step back.

Anelisse grabbed his arm, eyes wide.

It was the second pulse that had him gasping as he felt the power build around her, thrumming through the air, sparking and pulsing, like the deep breath before the plunge. A second later the power launched forward with such force it set the Loreley rocking dangerously, nearly knocking Anelisse off her feet. Gandriel caught her easily.

Celeste's magic shot through the deepening twilight like an arrow, swift and unyielding. A snap cracked through the night as the barriers splintered into nothingness, cries of shock sounding from ships as the wards came tumbling down.

Clearing away some of the fog, Gandriel saw that they were on top of them now, with a clear path forward.

Surprise and a hint of exhilaration filled him as he looked toward Celeste, just in time to see her sway, nearly toppling from the railing. Instinctively, he rushed to grab her but she balanced herself and merely jumped down beside him.

He tried to quell the shaking in his hands, the fear that had bloomed in his stomach at the might he'd just witnessed-what the hell had that even been? The hair on his neck stood on end as he reached a hand out for her.

"Celeste, what was that?"

She gave him a smile, violet eyes bright in the darkness.

"Our ticket in."

* * *

It had been the whisper of that unknown boy's voice that had guided her magic, the soft hum that had Celeste instinctively reaching into a reservoir of power she'd nearly forgotten she possessed. Never as strong as his, she remembered, but powerful enough to do the trick when needed.

She'd followed the memory down, pulling the vast rawness up as she focused and willed the shields to snap beneath it. As it had built she'd had a small flash of dark hair and blue eyes before a name had bloomed on her tongue.

A name that had left her as quickly as it had formed, flying away with the magic she had flung at the shields, vaporizing away with them as they'd disintegrated.

It didn't matter, whoever he'd been, he was only a fragment of her shadowed past.

Best ignored and forgotten.

She just needed the world to stop spinning long enough for them to get onto that boat and take out the guards. She turned to her first mate, catching the scent of his surprise and fear amid the saturating smell of the ocean and rain.

She had no time for explanations, especially not as her men heaved the gangplank up, drawing their blades. They were seconds away from boarding.

Eoin approached from her peripherals, coming to her just as she'd asked. She swallowed and willed the world into focus, squaring her shoulders.

"Anelisse, you stay and watch the gangplank, Gandriel you're with me. No mercy for these bastards." She didn't give him a chance to respond as she strode up the length of the ship, palming her blades free as she watched her men drop the gangplank, swords at the ready as they rushed the guards awaiting them on the other side.

Her hair stood on end at the charge of electricity building behind her as she rushed the first guard, driving her blades into his chest and throat faster than any human could expect to react, tearing the flesh free before tossing the man's body to the side. A muffled boom echoed as the gangplank of the Siren dropped, the ship appearing as though from nothing through the mist beside the second ship in the convoy, just as planned. Then bright gold of flames flared through the fog, rising high in the air as plumes of wind sent them spiraling.

Celeste smirked - Koda and the others were certainly doing their job then. Warmth bloomed beside her as well, as a young demi-fae woman borrowed from Fallon's crew blasted the guards back, her own flames forcing them to yield step by step.

The din of battle soon rose around her as she cut down human guard after human guard, all scrambling to compose themselves and hold the line. Her men hit them like a tidal wave, crushing them with little effort.

Thunder boomed through the night as lightning illuminated the teeming deck in harsh white light for a moment before shooting down the mast, which exploded into splinters with a crack. Celeste ducked and covered her face as thousands of deadly shards of wood rained down around her. This ship wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.

"Hold the line!" she cried above the sound of battle, looking back toward the gangplank where Anelisse stood, dagger in hand, Eoin flanking her just as Celeste had directed him. She trusted her men and Eoin to keep her sister safe.

Shoving a final guard to the side and leaving him for the others to finish off, she shot for the cabin of the ship, no doubt where the captain of the vessel would be waiting. Where she hoped more information awaited her.

Not bothering to check whether it was locked or not, Celeste simply kicked in the door to the captain's quarters, pouring all of her fae strength into a single thrust that sent the slab of wood flying clean off its hinges into the dark room beyond. She strode into the room, her blades brandished, eyes peeled for any hint of movement. In the corner burned a single candle, the rest pitch black. Useful perhaps, she thought smugly, against a human.

Easing forward, she took in her surroundings, mentally sorting through the array of shapes of furniture, listening for the scuffling of feet, the sound of breathing. She heard the footsteps behind her before the blow landed, allowing her to sidestep and strike first, sending her assailant tumbling.

The human hit the floor, his blade clattering to the side.

Celeste whirled her own blade to land inches from the man's throat. Her position secured, she stepped closer and felt a flicker of delight feather through her as another flare of flame on deck illuminated the peppered hair and dark features. The same bastard who'd first tried to sell her sister as a slave.

Dermot.

* * *

Gandriel raced behind Celeste, his fingers tingling as his magic gathered another bolt of lightning in his palm when a force slammed into him, sending him skidding across the wooden planks. He slammed into the wood, the lightning in his palm guttering out.

"Well, well, if it isn't our little eavesdropper."

Fear clenched his stomach at the tone - he remembered that voice.

Rolling up onto his knees Gandriel took in the looming figure before him, draped in the same dark hood he'd worn that night in Sandlock. Of course he had to be his opponent.

"You." He bared his teeth and forced himself to his feet, reaching for the mostly ornamental blade he carried at his hip. "You're the bastard that turned me into a cat!"

The male stopped, tilting his head in confusion, "What?"

"Don't play stupid," Gandriel hissed, brandishing the sword he'd pulled from his belt, intending to get his revenge for days spent as a feline. "I know it was you."

The big male laughed, tossing his head back in amusement. "Whatever you say, boy," dark magic began to swirl around his hands, magic that suddenly made Gandriel's blade feel like a toothpick, "it won't matter for long anyway."

Gandriel tucked and rolled to the side as a ball of darkness shot toward him, almost losing his blade in the process. He skidded to a halt in time to see the magic instead slam into the rail behind him, sending wood splintering in all directions.

He swallowed. That had almost been him. He abandoned his blade.

Summoning another ball of lightning, Gandriel flung it at his opponent, sending sparks of electricity flying in all directions. The male narrowly dodged it, chuckling darkly as the lightning evaporated, his scarred face appearing as the hood of his dark cloak slipped back.

Gandriel took a tentative step back, uneasy beneath that heavy stare. Where, exactly, had Celeste run off to again?

"Oh, this, I've seen this power before." The warrior's teeth peeled back from his lips. "And that scent, like flowers and rain." He threw his head back, cackling toward the veiled night sky. "To think those two actually fucked," a low chuckle, "and made a little heir. Isn't that right, future Lord of-"

"Stop your rambling right now!" Gandriel hissed, calling a wall of wind around him as he scrambled to shut the mysterious male up. "You've no idea what you're talking about. Heir? What heir? There's no heir—" he slung another ball of lightning, this one more frazzled and nearly careening off into the water, "You don't know what you're talking about."

The male only smirked.

"Do you think I've forgotten that Aella bitch? I've wanted to dice her up since she gave me this little present," he gestured towards the brutal scar on his face, running from brow to chin, "though I suppose I'll settle for taking it out of her spawn's hide."

The male vanished as he winnowed behind Gandriel, another ball of sickening power poised to strike. The blond fumbled to dodge, his drenched hair sticking to his face as his shield of wind deflected the attack just enough to allow his escape. Instincts kicked in as the cloaked male summoned yet more magic, this time fashioning it into a sizzling spear that he drove down towards Gandriel's chest. He managed to regain his grip on his sword before his magic took hold and sent him flying between the worlds, winnowing behind the brute.

Brandishing his blade, Gandriel swung to strike but felt his sword collide with the bigger male's spear of magic, his arms quivering beneath the other males strength.

"Nice try, little lord."

Not good, this was not good at all.

* * *

"You," Celeste said with a snarl, circling Dermot as he regarded her from the floor, "of course it's you."

The man raised an eyebrow as he took her in, his scent hard to decipher amidst the overpowering smells of rain, fear, and blood. "If it isn't the little fae bitch. I wondered when you'd turn up again. Rufus was a fool for trusting you."

"I'm thankful the weasel did." She stopped her circling, watching the human carefully. "The papers he was carrying have certainly been helpful and he got a nice grave at the bottom of the deep blue in exchange. You're a hard man to track."

"As are you, whore."

Insults to try and ruffle her. She'd never give him the pleasure. Brandishing her blade, she rested it on the man's chest, watching the blade twitch imperceptibly with each of his breaths. The time would come to enjoy piercing the black, withered thing beating beneath, but first she had questions. She certainly wouldn't put it past Dermot to have used this shipment as a trap of some kind and wasn't willing to put her crew at risk without at least attempting to glean information.

"Why the wards?" Celeste gestured around her. "Why are you with this shipment? What are you hiding, Dermot? What is so special about it?"

"Absolutely nothing." He smirked at her, still seemingly unconcerned with his predicament. She kicked him even as she could tell there was no lie in his words. His hand drifted toward the pocket of his wool jacket.

"Answer the question," she snapped at him through clenched teeth.

"I just did."

Pressing her sword more deeply into his chest, she suppressed the thrill of enjoyment as a small dark blotch welled up around the tip of the blade. She was only one small thrust away from ending his miserable life. "Your ship has been taken. You can either offer up your information or lose your life."

Dermot chuckled. "I'm not so ignorant to think you'd spare me even if you promised it."

"Wise man."

"Unfortunately, as much as I've enjoyed our reunion, I'm afraid the same can't be said for you." The slaver pulled his hand from the pocket that he'd been inching towards and blew, sending fine particles flying into Celeste's face that immediately burned like hellfire and sent her reeling.

It felt like glass in her eyes and her nose, keeping her from breathing, blinding her—pain, unholy, horrendous pain and wrongness, the kind she'd felt only months before. Ground ash and faebane.

She fell back with a shout, cursing as she heard Dermot scramble up and race onto the deck, fleeing. Half blind, she followed after, tracking him by scent alone. She could barely make out the remaining fires that burned, the sound of her men as they overwhelmed the last of the guards.

"Dune! Time to go!" A rapid thud of footsteps, then the tang of magic—

"Bastard's winnowed away," she heard Gandriel growl to her left. Dimly, she registered his figure turning to her and gasping, "Celeste!" In a moment, his hands were on her, his face swimming into focus above her. "What happened?" He hissed as he yanked his hands away, the dust no doubt searing his skin as well.

"Faebane and ash," she managed to wheeze out, her lungs burning as her knees tried to crumple beneath her, everything unbearably hot, "he got away, we have to go after—"

A sudden torrent of cool rain poured over her, washing the dust from her face and soothing her burning skin. "No, not with you like this." She felt her first mate pull her, no doubt leading her back to her ship, even as every instinct screamed at her to pursue the man who'd slipped so easily from her grasp.

"Gandriel," she could taste the blood dripping down her throat, no doubt from where the dust had embedded itself in her sinuses, "we don't have time, this might be our only chance—"

"We'll get him," finality and fury in that tone, "We've secured the ship, we can check the hold for captives when we've fixed this - a few more minutes won't hurt them. Dermot's time will come."

Of that Celeste would be certain.


	57. Cargo

_**Author's Note: Trigger warning for dark content and slave trafficking. Hope you enjoy the chapter!**_

She was going to tear Dermot apart slowly, peeling his skin off piece by piece so he could get a taste of the agony she'd been in for over an hour now. The burning was just beginning to taper off as she dumped another bucket of cold water over her face, scrubbing vigorously at her burning cheeks, willing the remaining dust to leave.

He was a dead man, ten times over.

"Don't scrub!" Anelisse reprimanded, yanking Celeste's hands away. Her sister's face was finally coming into focus after bucket upon bucket of fresh water, slowly rinsing the miniscule particles from her eyes. "I've told you, you're only going to rub the last of it in more."

Celeste grumbled, dropping her hands into her lap as Anelisse brought another cooling rag to her cheek, gently pressing it on the hot skin.

It felt as though she'd never be rid of it all.

The only two substances on the planet her kind was susceptible to, and Dermot had made an art out of using them as weapons. Fallon and her crew had found proof of this in the innumerable containers of faebane and ash arrows stored in the hold of the main ship as Celeste recovered; hundreds of chests filled to the brim with the deadly arms.

Even the demi-fae had cursed when she'd accidentally touched the faebane, jumping back and growling her displeasure as she'd kicked the chest closed. She'd ordered it burned and sent to the bottom of the ocean along with the rest of the ship. "Out of sight and off the playing field," as the extravagant captain had proclaimed.

Between buckets of water and cool rags, Celeste had intercepted the order, requesting a wide-eyed Eoin to take a few containers to her own chamber as Koda finished scorching and disposing of the rest. She saw no use in throwing out a potential weapon, especially with the presence of Dermot's fae companion Dune, who'd walloped Gandriel soundly. Anger had filled her when her vision had cleared enough for her to see her first mate's face, bloodied and bruised, and the rapidly healing slash across his arm that stained his white sleeve red.

He'd seemed none the wiser to it as he paced back and forth in her cabin, nervously muttering under his breath about "how does he know?"

Celeste had inquired after Gandriel's murmurings, only to have him promptly proclaim it was absolutely nothing and that Dune hadn't given up a single ounce of information but that they needed to find him immediately and without delay.

He'd averted his eyes as she quirked a puffy and disbelieving brow at his suspicious behavior and had, instead, suddenly found the books on her shelf in desperate need of alphabetizing. The male was now thoroughly invested in his venture, dutifully and single mindedly sorting the volumes, the most effort Celeste ever seen Gandriel exert in any activity.

She hadn't bothered questioning further.

"There." Cool relief washed through her, followed by the welcome tingle of healing as Anelisse pulled the rag away, the white fabric tinged with blue. "I think we've finally gotten it."

Running a tentative hand over her raw skin, Celeste flinched at the damaged tissue but was relieved to find it no longer felt like hellfire.

"Thank you."

"Here." Celeste closed her eyes as her sister smoothed a thick cream across her face, the scent of herbs filling the air as the mixture instantly numbed and soothed the skin. She grunted as the salve soaked in.

"What is this?"

"A little concoction I thought I'd try my hand at making." More of the cooling cream was applied to her nose, easing the incessant itching. "It seems to be working."

"Whatever it is, it's doing wonders."

Anelisse hummed her approval, gently patting Celeste's cheeks as she worked.

"I know that smell," Gandriel said, looking up from where he knelt before the bookshelf, sniffing the air tentatively. "That's an old fae recipe. Where'd you learn how to make that?"

The blonde shrugged as she continued her ministrations.

"It was something my father picked up during his years traveling before he married my mother." She made one last swipe across Celeste's forehead before pulling away and gently capping the container. "He used to use it for any injuries or sprains he acquired, and he made it often when I was small. Once he . . . died, we didn't have the money for the herbs anymore. We used the last of what we had on Celeste the night we found her."

Celeste quieted at the information, watching as Anelisse strode across the room with a small smile and placed the tin gently in a drawer. She'd always known that her appearance had taken a toll on the newly widowed mother and her daughter, her arrival forcing them to dip into their already dwindling savings and supplies . . . and this, just another thing to add to the list of things she owed her sister.

As though sensing her train of thought, Anelisse turned back with a knowing look on her face.

"Don't give me that sad, guilt-ridden look. We were happy to do what was needed to save you."

Celeste shook her head, knowing better than to argue, eternally grateful for the blonde she called family. She sent a glance over to a still sorting Gandriel who watched them out of the corner of his eye with something like longing. Upon noticing her attention, he turned back to the shelf, books piled in his lap.

Well, perhaps now it was _blondes_.

Grateful for the copious amounts of water that had returned her vision, she rose and strode to the male who was now straightening the titles starting with the letter "F" before firmly, but gently, kicking him in the hip. He looked up at her with wide eyes, his resemblance to an overgrown child never ceasing to amaze her.

 _Overgrown child he might be,_ she thought to herself, _but he did come for me._

Even if the bastard was hiding something. He'd tell her in due time.

"Well, get up, we can play librarian later." She looked down at him, admiring the kindness and warmth in those tawny eyes that had sought her out the moment she'd been hurt, with no regard for his own injuries. "We've got slaves to free and find places for."

The bright smile he gave her nearly had one of her own blooming.

* * *

"Has anyone actually opened the hold?"

Celeste wasn't fond of the idea of taking any more chances, especially after Dermot's little stunt.

Gandriel stood behind her, his nervous energy having settled somewhat on their short but brisk walk over to the ship Fallon and her crew had taken.

"Not yet." The demi-fae kicked the shattered lock to the floor and turned the lever on the swollen wooden door, the rusty mechanism squealing as it turned, making Celeste's skin crawl. "But I doubt we'll find anything but people down here. We've already uncovered their weapon stash."

"Wishful thinking," Celeste heard Vaerek mutter under his breath, the first-mate holding a faelight to illuminate the dark doorway as he tightened his grip on the dagger at his belt, Avi flanking him. The humidity in the hold of the dank, uncared-for ship was nearly unbearable, murky and cold, like the very ocean would soon seep in and take the vessel for itself. It was a miracle it was still floating.

"Don't be sour."

With a hip, Fallon shoved the door open, the hot, musky smell of unwashed bodies and refuse hitting them like a wall. Celeste had nearly vomited the first time she'd freed a batch of slaves that had been on the sea for months, the stench and sight of their wasting bodies overwhelming.

This shipment seemed no better, clearly having been on the water for several weeks at least, the few pieces of hay beneath their feet nearly rotted into nothingness.

"Hello?" Fallon called in her high-pitched chime, her jaunty feather bouncing as she stepped into the dark hold. "Is anyone there?" No reply answered her, save for a faint shuffle and the clinking of chains, followed by a child's stifled whimper and sob.

Pulling her own faelight from her pocket, Celeste stepped next to the other captain before allowing the stone to flare to life, illuminating the room before her. The breath instantly escaped her lungs and silence filled her mind as she took in the tiny, dirty faces peering from the shadows before her.

Children.

Perhaps a hundred of them, fae and human alike all huddled close together, their haunted eyes wide with fear as they tried and failed to press further into the corners of the hold.

Anelisse gasped in horror, shoving to the front beside her.

Fury as cold as winter stole through Celeste as she took in each filthy face, the stench of their fear and sorrow. She couldn't contain the growl that slipped past her lips. So that was the reason for the lack of guards - for what was there to guard when your captives were half your size and entirely helpless?

Death wouldn't be punishment enough for the snake.

There would be no mercy.

No excuse for this, no redemption-horrible, this was beyond horrible.

She felt Fallon still on her other side and glanced over at her, the captain's normally sparkling eyes hidden beneath the brim of her hat. She paused for only a moment before turning and abruptly striding out, the sound of her heeled boots clicking against the floor as she made her way back into the hall. Vaerek immediately followed after, quietly calling his daughter's name.

Celeste shared a concerned glance with her sister who looked somewhere between tears and fury. Shifting her gaze to the doorway, she caught sight of the rage marring Gandriel's face, the emotion contorting his features into something she'd never seen before, his eyes flashing in the darkness. Disbelief filled her as she watched his fingers slowly taper into claws, the sound of his breathing uneven.

Not a shapeshifter, her ass.

"Have you gone feral?" she hissed at him, nodding at the deep grooves he had gouged into the damp wood of the doorway. Snapping his head toward her he glanced down at his fingers and immediately blanched, tucking his hands awkwardly behind his back and attempting to quiet his breathing, his face still twisted with fury.

She could have sworn he was shaking his hands behind him, as though he were trying to dispel the appendages away.

At this rate he'd only scare the children further. Had the situation not been so dire Celeste might have laughed at the panic on his features.

She opened her mouth to tell him as much when Avi stepped between them, face unreadable.

"Here, little pearl, hold this." Avi handed off the faelight that Vaerek had given him to Anelisse and patted the wide-eyed Gandriel on the shoulder before easing past.

With steps as soft as a lamb's, the selkie lord walked toward the closest and what appeared to be the youngest child, a little fae girl with wide brown eyes and matted chestnut curls, likely no older than three. At his approach she flinched, cowering away as far as her shackles would allow. Avi knelt down to her level and sat beside her, his liquid eyes softening.

"Hello there."

The little girl tucked her head between her knees, attempting to make herself small as possible. The male's face remained calm as he watched her, broad shoulders relaxed.

"You don't need to hide from me, I'm here to help you." His voice was as soft as silk, low and patient as he waited on her to respond. Sensing he wasn't coming any closer she peered one dark eye up at him, tear streaks cutting a path through her dirty face. Avi smiled softly and nodded at her chains.

"I bet those hurt a lot, would you like me to take them off?"

She looked at him suspiciously before nodding her head vigorously. Swiftly and silently he pulled the bolt from the floor, letting the chain drop to the wood with a thud. Seeing she could move, the child immediately pressed further into her corner, the chains rattling around her small ankles.

Avi remained patient in his spot, watching her softly as she kept a wary eye on him.

"You know, it's very dark in here," he nodded at the shadows around them, his sleek ponytail sliding across his shoulders, "and I bet you don't like it very much, do you?" The child shook her head, and he smiled sadly. "Would you like to know a secret?" A tentative nod; Avi leant forward ever so slightly and whispered, "I'm scared of it too."

"You are?" A quiet, hoarse voice sounded from one of the other children nearest, a small human boy no older than eight, with black hair and upturned eyes. Two smaller girls who resembled him remained tucked safely behind him.

"I am," Avi replied quietly, without turning his attention from the first little female. Celeste saw some of the other children perk up, shuffling forward to watch the seal lord. "It's very scary. No one should have to stay in it, don't you think?" He'd directed the question to the smallest girl who sat up a little and nodded. "Me too." Slowly, he offered out a hand to her, palm up. "Would you like to leave the dark? I promise I won't hurt you." He turned his attention towards the other children. "Any of you."

The girl seemed to consider for a moment, her bright eyes flickering, before deciding that he meant no harm. She shuffled forward to lay her dirty palm softly in his hand and allowed Avi to close his fingers around her own before gently pulling her up into his arms, gently breaking the shackles from her wrists.

The chains hit the ground with a clatter.

She immediately latched herself around his neck, burying her dark head into his shoulder. He shushed her softly and wrapped his arms around her before standing. "Let's go see the sun. What do you think?"  
The child nodded her little head, silent tears dripping down her dirty face. "All right."

Avi nodded toward Celeste and the others. "My friends are here to help too - they'll let you all free but you must listen to them."

The children watched them with wide-eyed stares, the stench of fear beginning to mingle with uncertainty. Celeste forced a soft smile to her face as she ignored the rage beneath and strode forward to the little boy with the uptilted eyes and offered out a hand. He immediately held out his shackled wrists for her to break him free.

As she snapped the metal, another little boy, this one fae, narrowed his eyes at her.

"You smell angry. How do we know we can trust you?"

 _Right,_ Celeste thought as she struggled to push down her emotions, fae children were significantly harder to hide things from.

"She's angry because of what the bad people did to you. She will not hurt you. None of us will." Avi softly answered from where he stood with the smallest, rocking her back and forth in his arms, smoothing her hair from her face as she sobbed into his shoulder.

The boy frowned, his pale, freckled cheeks puffing even as he took the answer as acceptable. Celeste tried to smile gently at him even as her emotions demanded she destroy the bastards who'd done this. The other children began to murmur quietly, a barely discernible whisper as they spoke amongst themselves.

"You're very observant," Anelisse chirped as she knelt beside Celeste in front of the freckle-faced boy. "Please don't mind my sister, I know she seems grumpy but she's actually very kind."

The boy looked Celeste over suspiciously before nodding his agreement with her sister, his eyes softening at the kind blonde before him. Celeste couldn't even bring herself to argue, beginning to undo the shackles of what she assumed were the human boy's sisters, as Gandriel knelt near the wall on her right to free one of the few adults, a silent, sharp-featured human woman who cowered her face behind a dull curtain of dark hair.

If she was doing a bad job of hiding her emotions then Gandriel was failing miserably. At least there were humans who wouldn't be able to sense his anger, not that his face was doing a very good job of hiding it.

She only hoped none of them had noticed him sprout claws moments before.

Dropping the chain from the little boy's wrist, she nodded to the doorway. "There are nice people on deck who will feed you and find you water." He stared at the stairs as though they were a monster that would eat him, the same way Celeste knew she'd stared at the door of their cottage waiting for him to come take her. She offered another smile, this one genuine. "It's all right, go on up. I promise it's safe."

Taking the hands of the two girls, no doubt his sisters, he walked around Celeste and towards the stairs, delivering them from the clutches of darkness and to freedom.

* * *

Two hundred and eighteen slaves between the ships, two hundred and eleven of which had been children, a variety of fae, human, and demi fae. Lucien set the report on the desk before him, staring down at the scrawling violet script as a fire built in his chest.

There had always been a variety of ages, young to old, and seeing children was not uncommon, but an entire shipment . . . They were getting desperate, and with the success of Fallon and her companions . . .

It was only going to get worse from here.

Part of Lucien was relieved to know that the capture of the ship had been easy, even if the now known ringleader Dermot had escaped, winnowed away by some high fae associate. Not surprising, given that the first alliance between humans and the fae had been the slave trade.

The man was proving increasingly difficult to track, even by fae standards.

He would have been lying if he said he hadn't considered calling in the Shadowsinger - there was very little that got past him - but the thought of Azriel nearby with the approaching wedding made him nauseous.

A flare of possessiveness raced through Lucien that he stifled on instinct, willing its cooperation and silence.

No, as useful as Feyre and Rhysand's spymaster would be, Lucien didn't think he could see him anytime soon, not with the thought of his mate swearing herself to him forever. He certainly wasn't going to attend the wedding, for everyone's sake, the beautiful pressed invitation still sitting discarded on his desk at Rose Hall, wax seal unbroken.

Which was partially why Lucien sat before a certain captain's desk now, awaiting her return from where she'd gone to see off the captain of the _Loreley_ as she and some of her crew headed back to Marchedor. Leaving, to his knowledge, to start tracking information on the missing ringleader and to help to find homes for the two hundred children now staying on the slave ship that they'd towed back.

They'd need to find them shelter soon, and hopefully permanent living situations.

But to place two hundred children . . . They'd have to do some bargaining and hunting but they'd figure it out, eventually.

Lucien shook his head. It could wait until the morning, and with his current state of mind . . . the distraction that Fallon promised was something he was looking forward to for once. He'd even donned her favored jade doublet in hopes of pleasing the female and luring her into her favored pastime.

She'd certainly never complained in the past.

It was the sound of her clicking heels that had him straightening in his chair, relief flooding him against the chafing mating bond as she came closer, nearly smothering its presence.

The door swung open and the smell of violets and plums engulfed him, an enticing scent he'd secretly come to enjoy when she wasn't . . . encouraging his hand, or other parts, to do her bidding. He'd turned to greet her when he was met with a surprisingly clipped tone.

"What are you doing here?"

He stopped as he took in her appearance, her normally immaculate waves tucked away in a braid and her infamous purple hat nowhere in sight. She wasn't even wearing a corset, instead dressed in a loose white shirt, her eyes missing their signature kohl lining.

"I thought it prudent to see you after returning—" there were dark circles under her eyes, the smell of sweat still clinging to her as though she hadn't bathed, her perfume stale "—are you all right?"

"Yes, get out." She strode around him and stepped behind her desk, plopping down the armload of papers she'd brought in, the top one labeled with names and addresses—likely homes to place the freed children in, or perhaps possible leads to find some of their parents. She glanced him over and sighed at the jade doublet before pointing at the door. "Not in the mood for that tonight. Another time."

Of course, on the night when he desperately needed her distraction Fallon was indisposed and clearly up in arms. Dumbfounded, Lucien sat back down, watching her with puzzlement - not in his entire time of knowing the demi-fae had he ever seen her in such a state.

Perhaps she was dealing with her cycle. She had hit him with a chamber pot once when he had spoken to her during it and since then he'd never stuck around long enough when he sensed its arrival to know what else she might do. Surreptitiously he tried to scent her as she sat down without looking at him, beginning to shuffle through the pages and her notes.

No, it wasn't that.

Unsure how to proceed, he watched her work for a time, her brow wrinkling as she began flipping through pages, her elbows braced on her desk. Perhaps he should talk to Avi, to see if the seal lord had any idea what had happened to the captain, since she likely wouldn't be forthcoming-

"Didn't I tell you to get out?" She peered up at him with tired eyes. "If you're going to sit there like a flower arrangement then at least be helpful. Have you contacted Tamlin about potentially placing some of the children in Spring? Surely he could find a place for a handful of children somewhere in that garden of his."

Lucien felt heat flare up to his face - he hadn't contacted Tamlin, thinking to do so in the days following his little distraction with Fallon. He shook his head. "I have not."

"Then perhaps you should do that."

Harsh, and not in her usual playful way. Exhaustion marred her features, she clearly hadn't slept in days, and they'd only returned to Portmouth that morning. Concern filled Lucien as he braced himself and watched the female.

She shot a dark look up at him.

" _What,_ Lucien?"

"Fallon." To his slight surprise, genuine worry filled him as he looked her over. "What happened?"

"What do you mean, 'what happened?'" She gestured at the papers before her. "They took two hundred innocent children. We need to find their families, and if they have none, safe places for them to go."

He'd never seen her work diligently at anything, always taking her time and easing through things, a smirk ever-present on those plump lips. They'd found places for thousands of slaves before. What was different about this?

"There's no sense in rushing through it, we will get it resolved eventually." Surely there were some orphanages the Courts could donate to that would happily take the children in. Perhaps not the best childhood, but one that was at the very least secure.

Lucien realized immediately he'd spoken the wrong words as Fallon's scent shifted from annoyance and exhaustion to malice and contempt. Her lovely hazel eyes sharpened to daggers.

"Go home Lucien."

"Fallon—"

"Go home."

"They're just children, Fallon, they will be fine, they're safe now." They'd done their part in rescuing them - there was an entire coalition specifically created for the purpose of helping the slaves reintegrate and find new, safe homes, and she was clearly in need of sleep.

Something in him twisted as he felt the mating bond beginning to tighten in his chest, the pull toward Elain that he had desperately been seeking relief from rising to the surface. Surprise filled him - not once had it ever flared in the presence of the female before him, whatever mysterious power she wielded somehow always silencing it.

He forced his focus back to the present.

"Are you even listening to yourself? They're not 'just children,' Lucien," she snarled, eyes bright, "Do you have any idea what that's even like? To be towed about like cargo and sold to the highest bidder?" The captain's eyes narrowed as she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. "The taste of fear when they take you, not understanding why your mother let them pull you from your bed? To be afraid the first time you taste sunlight again and worry that it may be the last?"

 _Oh._

Understanding and shame bloomed in Lucien's mind at her words, the mystery of her appearance and her unspoken past suddenly clicking into place in his mind. How had he missed it?

"Of course not. You're the son of a lord."

He gaped at her. ". . . Why didn't you ever tell me?"

For that matter, why hadn't Avi ever told him? Lucien didn't consider himself close friends with the seal lord, but they'd worked together through the duration of trying to shut down the slave trade, even exchanging stories of their lives.

Though he'd never mentioned having a daughter, not until Lucien had met Fallon at the ball that night when their little dance had started. And while she'd been clearly adopted—he'd never expected she'd once been in the same position as those children on the ships.

"You never asked." Something sharp pierced through Lucien's chest at that, even as she rolled her eyes and went back to glancing through her papers. "You've never bothered asking anything about my life, so why would I tell you?" She snorted. "We're not exactly in a relationship where we sit around and braid each other's hair while we share our childhood trauma."

Ouch.

And while she wasn't wrong, did she have to put it so bluntly? Then again, how many times had she referred to him as a toy?

His gut twisted.

"I'm sorry."

With a sudden jolt of shame, he realized how little he actually knew about Fallon.

"Why?" She licked her thumb and pulled out a page, setting it to the side. "What's done is done, no sense in crying over it. Besides, I had a wonderful childhood." She gestured at the pages. "Fortunately, we have a chance to help these children."

"You're right." Lucien rose stiffly, his mind sifting through the information Fallon had revealed to him. "I should go draft my letter." She hummed her agreement without looking up from her papers. He briefly wondered if she'd eaten and if he should seek out food for her, or maybe suggest that she sleep.

If she'd even take the food or advice he offered, given how starkly she'd pointed out the nature of their . . . relationship.

He wasn't certain why her words had stung.

"Let's get these children placed, then we can talk about getting back to business." Fallon's eyes softened slightly, a hint of their usual spark returning as she nodded at his jade doublet. "For now, we have work to do."

Lucien nodded his agreement, feeling strangely hollow after having arrived with an appetite for her in a rare moment of desire. Quickly he stole out the door and made his way back on deck, stepping lightly around Vaerek's room.

He nearly summoned a ball of flame when a voice materialized out of the darkness, a tall figure leaning against the railing of the ship and looking at him with amusement.

"Well, that certainly didn't go in your favor." Avi's bright smile cut through the darkness.

"Why are you just standing out here eavesdropping?" Another protective father, but this one more reasonable than the mortal one . . . mostly. Lucien groaned internally. Why had he even put himself in this position?

"Because she took this hard-" the seal lord rolled his neck, arms crossed over his chest, "-and needed someone to talk to, though you thoroughly missed that."

"What do you mean?" Lucien narrowed his eyes as the selkie pushed off the rail. "She didn't seem much in the mood to talk about anything."

Avi let out a low laugh. "Oblivious children."

Lucien straightened his spine, vexation filling him at the comment. He instead settled for asking a question of his own: "Why not tell me?"

"It's not my story to tell-" Avi nodded toward the cabin where his daughter was still working, the sound of her scribbling clear to their fae hearing "-though since you now know maybe I'll tell you eventually. For now you should probably get back to your room and write to the Lord of Spring. That is, if you want any chance of speaking to her tomorrow."

Part of Lucien wanted to inform the lord that his relationship with his daughter was not even remotely serious and therefore her being on speaking terms with him was not a concern. Yet somehow, he found himself agreeing before winnowing back to his room and pulling out parchment to pen a request to his old friend.


End file.
